


Building the Universe

by Melanie674



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Murder, PTSD, anxiety/panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie674/pseuds/Melanie674
Summary: Alright so I literally have no idea what I’m doing. This is the first fanfiction I have ever written and I just started writing it the first time I saw episode 6x16 way back in April of last year. Negan was only on screen for about ten minutes and I was already fascinated by him. Truthfully, most of this story was written right after that episode and throughout the summer of 2016 when all I had to go on was the season 7 trailer. I was not a comic reader during this time, but I did research a few things from the comics so that my story would be at least somewhat true to the source material.If you are a die-hard fan, then some inaccuracies with small details may piss you off. For example, I now know that the Sanctuary is really just one big factory, but the Sanctuary in my story is more like a factory surrounded by a small village. It’s just funny that there are a lot of coincidences between my story and the actual show. For example, the doctor in my story is named Carson and he is not in any way based off the Doctor Carson from the Sanctuary in the comics (I finally read all of the comics right around December 2016 and I couldn’t believe that there was already a Doctor Carson. I honestly just chose that name because of the meaning behind it).You will probably notice other similarities while reading as well. For instance, there is a part where Negan makes an example out of someone, and I wrote this scene before I saw the episode (and read the part in the comics) where Negan punishes Mark with the iron. Only the last couple of parts of this story were written while season 7 was airing and while I was reading the comics chronologically for the first time.Another disclaimer: This story was supposed to start out as a Reader x Negan kind of deal, but the “reader” character quickly became her own character and….yeah….I don’t really know what happened there. I guess I would just describe this as an “immersive fictional story,” as it is still written from the “you” point of view.Final Disclaimer: My version of Negan was initially just based on his ten minute appearance in 6x16. But as I researched more about him in the comics he became more of a mix of his TV and comic book portrayals (in my mind, he looks like TV Negan though).The final parts of this story were harder to write because I liked Negan a LOT less after he killed Glenn. It was very hard to look past that in my writing because I really freaking loved Glenn…I just was not inspired to write about a character that murdered one of my favorite characters in TV history. That’s why finishing this story ended up taking almost a year.Anyway, despite everything I just said, I really had a blast writing this. I hope you all enjoy it as well. Please feel free to criticize as much as you want. I tried to put a lot of thought into this plot, but maybe there are some holes you can point out to me. Or maybe there was a way I could have condensed this story so that it didn’t turn out to be the length of a mini book. Really, any feedback at all will be helpful. Thank you!!!





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so I literally have no idea what I’m doing. This is the first fanfiction I have ever written and I just started writing it the first time I saw episode 6x16 way back in April of last year. Negan was only on screen for about ten minutes and I was already fascinated by him. Truthfully, most of this story was written right after that episode and throughout the summer of 2016 when all I had to go on was the season 7 trailer. I was not a comic reader during this time, but I did research a few things from the comics so that my story would be at least somewhat true to the source material.  
> If you are a die-hard fan, then some inaccuracies with small details may piss you off. For example, I now know that the Sanctuary is really just one big factory, but the Sanctuary in my story is more like a factory surrounded by a small village. It’s just funny that there are a lot of coincidences between my story and the actual show. For example, the doctor in my story is named Carson and he is not in any way based off the Doctor Carson from the Sanctuary in the comics (I finally read all of the comics right around December 2016 and I couldn’t believe that there was already a Doctor Carson. I honestly just chose that name because of the meaning behind it).  
> You will probably notice other similarities while reading as well. For instance, there is a part where Negan makes an example out of someone, and I wrote this scene before I saw the episode (and read the part in the comics) where Negan punishes Mark with the iron. Only the last couple of parts of this story were written while season 7 was airing and while I was reading the comics chronologically for the first time.  
> Another disclaimer: This story was supposed to start out as a Reader x Negan kind of deal, but the “reader” character quickly became her own character and….yeah….I don’t really know what happened there. I guess I would just describe this as an “immersive fictional story,” as it is still written from the “you” point of view.  
> Final Disclaimer: My version of Negan was initially just based on his ten minute appearance in 6x16. But as I researched more about him in the comics he became more of a mix of his TV and comic book portrayals (in my mind, he looks like TV Negan though).  
> The final parts of this story were harder to write because I liked Negan a LOT less after he killed Glenn. It was very hard to look past that in my writing because I really freaking loved Glenn…I just was not inspired to write about a character that murdered one of my favorite characters in TV history. That’s why finishing this story ended up taking almost a year.  
> Anyway, despite everything I just said, I really had a blast writing this. I hope you all enjoy it as well. Please feel free to criticize as much as you want. I tried to put a lot of thought into this plot, but maybe there are some holes you can point out to me. Or maybe there was a way I could have condensed this story so that it didn’t turn out to be the length of a mini book. Really, any feedback at all will be helpful. Thank you!!!

Your hands were shaking. Around you, the shadowed men still whistled ominously; two notes decrescendoing down into the same dark place you feared that you and your group were about to enter. Your knees, digging into the dirt below you, felt as if they would give way at any second, and you worried about blacking out in the center of this cult-like circle of brooding figures.  
Even though not a single person moved, you felt as if they were zeroing in on you, their haunting stares from the abyss of the forest penetrating your soul, finding the glimmer of hope for this new world that you hid at your very core and crushing it with the tight fist of reality.  
You tried to focus on something small—the fog of breath that formed in front of you every time you exhaled, the glistening trace of a single star hidden partially behind a huge cloud in the night sky, anything to keep you from doing something crazy.  
You had always been on the rational side. Sure, you could kill when you needed to, but where others would lash out, you could find ways to talk through most situations. When things got tense, you kept your head, thought it through, rarely let your temper or your emotions get the best of you.  
Tonight, however, felt different. You glanced over at Rick, who appeared exhausted and sweaty. His bloodshot eyes were open wide and it didn’t seem as if he was staring at anything in particular. He looked as if he was replaying in his mind every mistake he had ever made.  
You thought back to when you first ran into Rick and his group at the Greene family farm. That asshole Shane didn’t trust you and wanted to send you away, but Rick had convinced him to give you a chance. Since then, you had shown him and all the others undying loyalty, fighting by their sides through Woodbury, Terminus, and most recently Alexandria.  
Every step of the way Rick had led you, and you had always trusted his decision making because you believed in his determination to turn a dire world into a better place. Beneath every tragedy your group, (now the people you referred to as your family), had endured, Rick had always held on to the same bit of hope that you had for the new world.  
Now, kneeling feet away from you, the only thing you could see was a completely broken man. You reasoned that right now Rick was witnessing everything that he had been working towards for the past few months collectively shatter around him, and it made your heart fill with anguish. All you wanted was to relieve your knees of this eternal ache, get up, run towards the nearest whistling shadow and take him down.  
Glancing over to the bulging idiot who had taken your swords, you watched as he tried to spin them around in his hands, almost dropping one in the process. You wished so badly you had a weapon—any kind would do—so you could pop these bastards off one by one.  
How many of them _were_ there, anyway? How did you, or anyone from Alexandria for that matter, not realize that something massive was functioning just outside your gates, right underneath your noses this whole time? For a split second you almost allowed yourself to be impressed by how organized they were. How the _hell_ did they pull this off in such a way that nobody saw it coming?  
As you silently pondered these questions, the sound to your right of a crate being unlocked jolted you back to the present. Several men began pulling more people out of the crate, and it took you a minute to realize that these were in fact your people, given how unrecognizable they were due to enduring multiple injuries.  
You watched in dismay as they emerged one by one, also being brought to the ground on their knees. First up was Michonne, face usually set with the determination of a true warrior, now looking absolutely defeated. Next came Glenn, visibly shaken from whatever the Saviors had already done to him, made even worse by seeing Maggie in front of him, since she was practically convulsing from the mysterious illness that had stricken her. You watched the couple in desperation, as they were close enough to see the other’s pain and suffering, yet too far apart to do anything about it.  
You didn’t think your heart could break any more, but that changed when you turned in horror to see Daryl as the final person being removed from the crate, so weak from—what was that? A fucking _gunshot_ wound? Red stains covered his chest and arms and you could tell that he was pale from losing too much blood. He clutched tightly to a small blanket that was draped around his shoulders as a couple of guys shoved him down into the dirt.  
You wanted so fiercely to at least help him sit upright, but you were fearful of what the Saviors might do next if you tried to reach over. Instead, you opted to watch through glassy eyes as Daryl physically struggled to push himself up to a kneeling position. The way he was hunched over, shaking from a combination of pain and the cold night air, you noticed how fragile he looked.  
It scared you to think of him that way, since “fragile” was the last word you would’ve ever used to describe Daryl Dixon. Sure, he had his emotional outbursts every now and then, but given the trauma he had experienced both before the apocalypse and after, you couldn’t blame him. Sometimes you even tried to talk to him about the things he had been through. When you first joined the group, it was impossible to break down his walls. There were only a handful of people he would really open up to, Carol and Beth being at the top of the list.  
After months of persistence, he finally started letting you in. At first it was in small glimpses—a comment here about his father’s abusive nature, a quick joke there about his older brother Merle’s antics as the two of them grew up together. But over time you found yourselves gravitating to each other more and more, especially after Beth’s ill-fated death at the hospital. That was the first time Daryl ever sat down with you to have an emotional heart-to-heart.  
You remember how he turned his hand over to reveal to you the spot where he had burned himself with a cigarette earlier that day while mourning Beth. You remember reaching for his other hand and telling him never to do that again, and that you had both lost enough people. You remember how he broke down in tears, admitting that he was punishing himself for letting so many of his close friends die. Lastly, you remember embracing him and saying that marking himself was taking his repentance too far, and that God forbid something should happen to him, his absence would leave a mark on you that would never heal.  
From that point on, the admiration you already had for each other turned to friendship. At Alexandria the two of you became nearly inseparable. Daryl started taking you out for hunts, and you asked him to join you on every supply run. Being two of the best fighters in the group, the both of you became a deadly pair. Between his crossbow and your twin swords, with Daryl you had almost felt invincible.  
Now here you were, watching each other with hopelessness and despair, realizing just how foolish it was to ever believe you had that much power and control.  
“Alright, we got a full house! Let’s meet the man,” one of the lead men said as he knocked on the door of the RV.  
A feeling of sheer terror overcame you as you realized your group was about to meet the man who was the boss of _all of these_ uncountable men. The evanescent fog of breath in front of you began to appear and vanish at a more rapid pace. You looked up to the dark sky and the star was gone—now completely covered by the looming cloud above you. You turned your eyes to the door and glued them there. Suddenly, you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. You felt trapped, and concluded that you might as well try and face your demons head on.  
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, and out stepped a very tall, very confident looking man in a black leather jacket. You noticed, almost immediately, the barbed wire-wrapped baseball bat casually resting on his left shoulder, as if he were just strolling up the field for his turn at home plate. This bat, you inferred, was probably used for a much more sadistic kind of sport. You knew just from this initial encounter that this man was none other than Negan.  
As he introduced himself to Rick and confirmed his identity, you studied him a little closer. Most likely in his mid-forties, black hair slicked back at the top of his head, and scruffy facial hair that was peppered black and grey. Around his neck he wore a red scarf that was tucked down into his coat, and covering just one hand was a dark leather glove. On his waist he wore a gun belt, along with grey pants, and boots on his feet that were made of more black leather. And one last thing: he had a very charismatic smile. He looked like he was plucked straight out of a catalogue for high-end biker gangs.  
As he walked down the line of people from your group kneeled before him, you took note of the way he carried himself. Standing up straight, towering over each trembling being, you could tell that this guy loved being in charge. He was the kind of person who craved power and enjoyed watching people cower in front him.  
“Not cool, _not_ cool,” he stated as he kept talking down to Rick.  
He was trying to sound casual—the way people conversed before the apocalypse, when they’d chat about problems at home or at work and didn’t realize how much worse things could get—but without success. Every friendly phrase he uttered had an icy undertone, and that made him even more dangerous. After the world went to shit, you began to realize that sometimes the people who wanted to seem “normal” were the ones who were capable of the greatest atrocities.  
Once again getting lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed what Negan was talking about until you heard him say, “Pay attention.”  
You didn’t like the way he lifted the bat from his shoulder and shoved it in Rick’s face.  
“Give me your shit, or I will kill you,” he threatened.  
Negan was clearly not fucking around. Look at the lengths he had gone to just to get you guys here. The elaborate scheme of his men blocking the RV at every turn and luring your group towards this spot in the middle of the woods was all part of a greater design.  
“Today was career day. We invested a lot so that you would know who I am, and what I can do,” Negan said, verifying exactly what you were thinking.  
As he continued to explain how doing “business” with the Saviors works, you thought about how the Hilltop community was forced into the same deal: giving Negan and his men half of their supplies in exchange for protection from walkers. You had no respect for people who refused to do the work it actually _took_ to survive; especially when they made weaker groups do that work for them.  
At the same time, however, you appreciated that Negan saw the value in keeping people alive, and you started to think of ways that this could benefit your group. After all, your people were nothing like those of Hilltop. Sure your gardening and crop growing could use some finessing, but you already knew how to defend yourselves. You were experienced fighters, and every single one of you was a survivor one way or another. You didn’t need anyone else to come and save you from the dead.  
You wondered if you could use this information to appeal to Negan somehow. For a moment you started to feel your confidence rise, the peace-maker inside of you getting ready to emerge from this shivering excuse for a body.  
And then all of the logic you were about to apply came crashing down full force when Negan turned to face the entire group and said, “You all don’t really think you were going to get through this without being punished, now did ya?”  
Your stomach twisted into a tight knot.  
Once again Negan aimed his bat in Rick’s direction. “This…this is Lucille, and she. Is. _Awesome_.”  
You had a sour feeling regarding where this was headed. For a split second you thought back to before the outbreak when you had bought your first ever piece of junk car and named it “Aiden.” People usually assigned names to inanimate objects that held special places in their hearts and brought them joy, and that’s when you realized that this twisted son of a bitch didn’t just enjoy _power_ …he enjoyed _killing_.  
As Negan explained how this punishment was your group’s retribution for taking out some of his men, you reflected on the night you went to the Saviors’ compound and silenced each of those men in their sleep. You did not feel any joy then. While you were capable of killing, taking a person’s life was never easy. Secretly it burdened you, but on the surface you tried to look determined to do what it took to survive.  
You didn’t like killing…you only did it when it was necessary. Did that make you a better person than most of the living? Probably not. Categorizing people as “good” or “evil” didn’t work so well in the apocalypse. Everyone you knew now had killed another human being at this point in time. In your eyes, the only way to break it down was to separate those who killed because they had to from the pleasure-seekers who killed because they _wanted_ to. Negan and his men, you suspected, belonged in the latter group.  
“So now,” he said, “I’m going to beat the holy hell out of one of you.”  
For the first time all night, the woods fell into a deadly, unnerving silence. You could almost hear your heartbeat accelerating in your chest as you tried to process what Negan just said.  
“All this… _allll_ this just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor.”  
You felt like you were going to be sick. You tried to rationalize, tried to force yourself to think of eleven reasons why Negan should not murder anyone. Eleven reasons—one for each your people in the line up. As hard as you tried to think, it seemed as if a feeling of sheer terror had completely numbed your brain.  
You helplessly watched as he walked over to Carl and bent down so that the two were face-to-face. Carl glared at him, unflinching, and you were worried that this would piss Negan off.  
However, much to your surprise, he seemed rather amused.  
“Shit kid, lighten up. At least cry a little.” He stood back up and walked down the line, surveying all of the group members a little more closely than before.  
Next he stopped in front of Maggie, who was just two people over from your left.  
“Jesus, you look shitty!” he exclaimed. “I should just put you out of your misery right now.”  
As he lifted Lucille above his head, your instinct was to jump towards him, but from the right of your peripheral vision you saw Glenn leap out of his spot instead.  
“NO!” he screamed, immediately being tackled to the ground by Dwight, another one of Negan’s despicable henchmen.  
You tried to hold in the tears as Glenn was dragged back to his kneeling position.  
It was torture to listen to him plead with Negan not to beat his pregnant wife to death. You cherished Glenn and Maggie and their relationship so much. They had been like an older brother and sister to you, and their love for each other was a beacon of light in the unending darkness. The family they were about to have represented all of the progress you wished to see in the new community you were trying to create. You wanted them to make it, because if they could, then maybe you could too.  
“First one’s free, it’s an emotional moment…I get it!” Negan pompously smiled as he pointed at Glenn.  
Suddenly you felt an entirely new emotion rise up inside of you: anger. How dare this fucker act like this was all some kind of joke? Like getting his kicks off of tormenting people was the kind of hobby everyone should get on board with?  
If looks could kill, the one you were giving Negan would have ended him right there. He noticed how intensely you were staring at him, and for the first time since he emerged from the RV, he made eye contact with you. Everything inside of you wanted to look down or turn away, but you forced yourself to hold your gaze, not wanting to lose this battle, however small it may be.  
As he slowly walked over to you, he smirked and said, “Well hello there, gorgeous.” That caught you off guard, and your eyes darted quickly to Lucille. You were expecting to be hit on in an entirely _different_ sort of way.  
As your expression turned from one of hatred to one of confusion, Negan laughed. “You couldn’t seem to keep your eyes off of me, so I thought I’d at least give it a try! Not the best fucking time to try and turn on the charm, I understand.”  
You blinked a few times, not sure of what to make of his bizarre behavior. He knelt down once more so that you were now face-to-face with him, his amusement turning to seriousness. He narrowed his eyes a bit and looked intently at your face. “But you are beautiful,” he chimed, this time speaking a little quieter. “Tell me, how close _are_ you to these miserable fuckers?”  
Keeping your voice as steady as you could, you responded: “They’re my family.”  
You didn’t want to beg him for anything, and the anger from before returned as you glared at him dead in the eye.  
Negan frowned at your defiance. “Well then, it’s a real shame you’re going to have watch me break one of their skulls into bite-size fucking pieces.”  
He got up and, pointing a finger at you like he did at Glenn earlier, said: “Call me after this is over though?”  
As he laughed to himself afterwards, you wanted to lunge at him and break his neck, but fear for your entire group’s safety held you back.  
“Sucks, don’t it?” Negan asked, making his way back over to Rick. “The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”  
Rick was distraught and utterly speechless. You watched Negan eye Carl once more, his mouth forming what was becoming to you his signature evil grin.  
“This is your kid,” he stated with delight, pointing Lucille in Carl’s direction. “This is _definitely_ your kid!”  
You knew Negan had just struck a nerve.  
“SO STOP THIS!” Rick shouted.  
“HEY!” Negan responded, equaling the volume of Rick’s voice. “Don’t make me kill the little future serial killer—don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody. _Everybody’s_ at the table waiting for me to order.”  
Despite the coldness in the air, your palms started to sweat. You didn’t like how straightforward he was. In a world where everyone tries to hide his or her true intentions, it seemed as if with Negan, what you saw is what you got. In any other situation that would be refreshing to you, but in Negan’s case is just meant all hope was lost. There was no softer side beneath his tough exterior to appeal to now.  
“I simply cannot decide,” he sighed. You could tell he was feigning frustration for his own sinister amusement. “I got an idea!”  
You were terrified as he walked over to Rick and aimed Lucille towards his face for a third time.  
“Eeny…meeny.... miny.... moe,” he said, now pointing Lucille at different group members with each word. The twisted game he was playing sent your mind spinning into a frenzy. You felt dizzy trying to worry about everybody at once.  
Each time Lucille hovered dangerously close to somebody’s head, it was as if all the experiences you ever shared with that person were flashing in front of you.  
You couldn’t bare the weight of what it would feel like to lose any of them, and you were about to pass out when you heard Negan say, “And you…are…IT.”  
Lucille was hanging grimly above Daryl’s shoulder, and it took all of your strength not to let yourself faint.  
You started panicking as Daryl was dragged like a rag doll to an open space in front of the entire group. Negan obviously wanted everyone to have a good view of the slaughter. Daryl looked up at Negan without showing a single sign of fear. Even now, bruised, beaten and bloody, face to face with a most gruesome fate, he was unwavering in his determination not to let Negan have the last laugh—not to let his family see him suffer. You knew you had to do something, but you didn’t know what the fuck to say. Negan gave everyone in your group a quick once over.  
“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father and _then_ we’ll start. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doing that.”  
Daryl bowed his head like a loyal soldier accepting death on the field of battle as Negan gravely raised Lucille high in the air. In that very moment, you didn’t give a shit about any of his threats.  
With a rush of adrenaline you felt your body lunge forward towards Daryl, and you lifted your hand up for protection. With your eyes closed and your head tucked down, you heard yourself scream “STOP!” and instantaneously felt severe pain as the hand you had suspended in the air collided with something heavy and sharp.  
During the shock you felt from the impact, your surroundings turned blurry. You could hear a few people cursing and all you saw was your forearm in front of you, blood dripping down it from the wrist to the elbow. You started to feel yourself topple over until a strong arm wrapped around you to hold you steady.  
“I’ve got you,” Daryl whispered close to your ear.  
Seething from the pain, you began to regain some clarity. You looked down at your hand to assess the damage and realized that underneath that red, bloody mess, your fingers were still intact. However, there were a few deep gashes in the palm of your hand, and you knew you were definitely going to need stitches.  
For now you wrapped your hand up with Daryl’s blanket, which someone must have tossed over to you during that second of chaos. The happiness you felt seeing that you still had a complete right hand almost overshadowed the intense agony you felt from your fresh wounds… _almost_.  
Suddenly you remembered who was responsible for this and looked up to see Negan standing over you. His face had been set in a chilling stare that quickly turned to fury as he examined your blood on Lucille’s barbed wire.  
“What the FUCK did I just tell you _not_ to do?!” Negan yelled.  
You shuddered at his rage and at the throbbing pain in your hand, which felt like it had its own heartbeat.  
Negan continued to shout: “Oh, you think _that’s_ painful? You better thank your lucky fucking stars that I was able to stop myself from swinging Lucille down all the way, or right now you wouldn’t even _have_ a fucking hand!”  
You looked up at him aghast and totally speechless. You figured it would be better to just let him get whatever he wanted to say out of his system, but your expression betrayed you with a mixture of disgust and disbelief.  
Negan started pacing in front of you. “Don’t you look at me like I’m some fucking animal! I have a _code_ to uphold. Doesn’t anyone respect the fucking rules anymore?! _FUCK!_ ”  
And with that final swear, he stopped pacing, and turned to the nearest car. With one mighty swing of Lucille, he smashed the passenger seat window in. Once the shattered pieces of glass had settled to the ground, Negan looked down at them, breathing heavy, one hand resting on his forehead. Nobody dared to say a word as they waited for his next move. He shut his eyes and sighed deeply, in what appeared to be intense contemplation.  
“I don’t hit women. Women and children,” he said with more composure, walking back over to you and bending down so that you were face to face again. “You made me break one of my own rules tonight.”  
His voice was calmer but you could tell he was trying to keep an explosion at bay. “Why? Why would you fucking go ahead and _do that_ to me?”  
It was difficult to know for sure, but he seemed visibly upset for a moment. He glanced at your sad excuse for a bandage and you could’ve sworn he was actually sorry. You needed to take advantage of this uncharacteristic display of weakness, and with all the energy you could muster, you took your shot at him:  
“Don’t you get it, you arrogant prick?! We did it to survive! We _all_ did the things that we did to survive! In fact, we did your group a fucking _favor!_ ”  
Negan, staring at you with his eyes wide, looked furious once more, but there was also a part of him that appeared slightly intrigued. “You care to elaborate on that? Because right now you’re treading on thin fucking ice, sweetheart.”  
You were breathing quickly, the adrenaline returning and coursing through your veins as you felt the pressure to choose your next words very carefully. You tried to keep your voice steady as you spoke on behalf of your family:  
“Out of all the communities you’ve come across, you will _never_ find another group of people like ours again. We are not the kind to sit on our assess and wait to be conquered. We go out there and we take what we need when we fucking _need_ it. We are survivors just. Like. YOU.”  
At this declaration, Negan did not have a snarky rebuttal. Instead he narrowed his eyes, stood back up and crossed his arms.  
“Go on,” he directed. His growing interest in what you had to say was very reassuring, and even though your hand still hurt like hell, you continued your argument:  
“We needed food. Hilltop wouldn’t give us any until we agreed to protect them from the Saviors. So we did what we had to do. The men we killed at that complex were weak. We got rid of the broken pieces in your chain, and now you have the opportunity to trade them in for something much stronger. Every single person in this line up is valuable one way or another.”  
You pointed to Eugene. “Don’t let looks deceive you. This guy has the brilliant mind of a fucking scientist. Every time we go out scavenging for food he tells us _exactly_ which grains we should locate to harvest. And Glenn over there is a master escape artist. He can navigate through the shittiest maze you can dream up and come out the other side in one piece.”  
You paused for a second and shut your eyes tightly, gripping your right arm with your left hand and letting out a painful shout as the stinging from your injuries reached almost unbearable levels of misery. Hell bent on getting your point across, you forced yourself to resume your speech.  
“The guy who’s brain you were just about to bash in? He’s an expert hunter and tracker. If you threw him out into the woods without even the clothes on his back, he’d still find a way to stay alive. …Why kill somebody who could be a unique asset to your group?”  
You sat up on your knees and stretched your left arm out as if you were trying to hold hands with everybody in the lineup. “Wouldn’t you rather have a working relationship with people as skilled as us? None of us have hidden behind community walls since the world went to shit. We know what it’s like out there—what it feels like to be at the doorstep of death, and we’re trying to avoid going back there again. If you decided not to kill any of us today, there would be no resentment. If you showed us mercy, you wouldn’t have to _force_ us to give you supplies. You would have our commitment, and being willing members of your group, we wouldn’t think twice about fighting to the death for you. What kind of survivor wouldn’t want that type of loyalty in his arsenal?”  
Negan scanned the group once more in an attempt to look like he was trying to size them up, but you could tell that he was already considering their value.  
“So let me get this fucking straight. You’re offering to be my soldiers? Weapons I can summon whenever the fuck I need ‘em?” he asked.  
“Essentially yes,” you responded, pushing yourself to sound as convincing as possible despite the worsening ache in your hand. “And you’d still get half your supplies. You’d also never have to worry about any rebellion from us if you could show us some understanding right now. I’m sure a man with your means believes he could crush any resistance in a heartbeat, but why even risk it in the first place? Save yourself the headache for when other potential threats come along.”  
Negan eyed you suspiciously. “How can I trust you not to fuck up my men the minute we let our guards down with you?”  
You looked up at him, your hardened expression beginning to soften. “Look at tonight as an example of what we do for the ones who are on our side. Each of us was ready to lay down our lives for the sake of the group. _This_ is what we do for our people.” You grunted as you raised your blanket-covered hand up as far as you could get it without doubling over in pain.  
“Would all of your men do that for you?” you inquired, slightly afraid such a question might rub him the wrong way.  
Negan glanced over in Dwight’s direction, and for the briefest of seconds you thought you saw a look of uncertainty on the otherwise cocky leader’s face.  
In the next instant, all traces of vulnerability vanished, as Negan threw his head back and laughed. He looked over at Rick, who appeared absolutely dumbfounded by the events that had just unfolded.  
“Oh boy, oh boy Rick. I think it’s time to retire and let this young lady take over as ringleader, because she just saved all of your sorry asses!”  
He walked over to you and extended his hand to your good one, and you immediately took it because you were starting to understand that Negan was not into any sort of hesitating bullshit. With a strong grip he pulled you up to your feet and didn’t let go of your hand until he had shaken it.  
“You, my dear, have a fucking deal,” he said, still smiling.  
You weren’t entirely sure, but it seemed like he didn’t just respect you…he _liked_ you. Looking down at the rest of your group, the tone of his voice became more menacing.  
“Just remember you lucky shits,” he warned, “I _spared_ you tonight. Lucille was thirsty and I denied her what she craves most, all so we can have this ‘working relationship’ your real leader kept going on about. So if I feel at any point in time that any of you fuckers is showing me some sorta disloyalty, this ‘relationship’ won’t be ‘working’ so much for me anymore. In that case…well…” he snickered, “…Lucille is _always_ thirsty.”  
As he turned to face his men, you just stood there, a little thrown off by Negan’s final threat to your group, but astonished by what you had just accomplished without so much as a single plan.  
“Alright boys, get this girl some real fucking bandages and then let’s saddle the fuck up! Give these assholes their RV back, and let them take that bed-ridden girl to Hilltop. And Rick, my new best friend on the whole fucking planet, I’ll be seeing _you_ at Alexandria in a few days to collect on our half of the deal. I gotta say, I’m kinda looking forward to this new business venture!”  
Negan propped Lucille back up on his shoulder and walked towards one of the Saviors’ trucks. He passed Daryl, who was still shaking on the ground. “And you,” Negan said looking down at him. “Take a fucking shower, for fuck’s sake.”  
And with that, he hopped in the truck and was gone.  
After a couple of Savior men wrapped up your hand with some cheap gauze, you ran over to Daryl, draping your left arm across his shoulders. “You okay?” you asked.  
He looked at you completely bewildered. “You shittin’ me? I should be asking _you_ that right now.”  
You gave him a small smile and replied, “I’m fine Daryl. They’ll get me patched up at home.”  
Daryl nodded in silent agreement. “Thanks…” he said, now looking you in the eye, “for savin’ my life.”  
Finally allowing yourself to really express the emotions you had been feeling all night, your eyes welled up with tears. “Anything for my family,” you proclaimed, giving him a hug.  
As you pulled away from the embrace, Daryl’s expression turned from gratitude to something more serious. In a low voice he muttered, “So we still gonna kill this bastard?”  
You turned your head to look off in the direction of the woods that Negan’s truck had disappeared into. You thought about what would have happened to Daryl and the rest of your group if you hadn’t been crazy enough to speak up in that final moment, and a feeling of rage began to grow inside you.  
With every intention of doing so you answered: “You bet your ass we are.”


	2. Escape

Six nights after your first encounter with Negan, you had a terrifying dream. You were in bed, and it was around one in the morning. You sat up in the darkness feeling completely parched, so you got up to fetch yourself a glass of water. As you walked to your kitchen you passed a window, and out of the corner of your eye you swore you saw the eerie silhouette of a tall man standing outside…waiting.  
You tried to tell yourself that you were just drowsy—that you were imagining things and you were perfectly safe in your home. But the anxiety kicked in when you noticed the knob of your front door start to turn, and you realized in horror that for some Goddamn reason you forgot to lock up.  
In the blink of an eye you were running towards the door and slamming against it, as the man from the outside started to force his way in. You knew without looking that this man wasn’t just any random stranger, it was _him_ —returning to destroy your life. You thought you had done enough to get rid of him for good but here he was, coming for you like a predator for its prey, relentless in his pursuit.  
He was shouting something but you couldn’t make out what he was trying to say, and all you knew was that you couldn’t let him get inside. Try as you might, you weren’t strong enough to hold him back much longer.  
Your freshly stitched hand was throbbing and beads of sweat were forming on your forehead as a gigantic arm shoved its way through the opening that was getting alarmingly wider. Towards the bottom of the door you saw a leg emerge, and then there was a shoulder, part of his waist, the side of his face…he was getting too close; the hand that had already made its way inside reaching over to grab at you.  
“GET OUT!” you shrieked in panic. “LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE! _PLEASE!!!_ ”  
Right before he burst through the door, you awoke. Shooting up to a sitting position, you immediately realized it was a nightmare, but nevertheless you were panting and frightened.  
As you tried to slow down your quickened breath, you thought about going back to sleep. You placed your head on your pillow and shut your eyes, doing your best to let yourself drift off. You knew, however, that your body wouldn’t let you relax until you did one more thing, so you hopped out of bed and walked slowly to your front door.  
Everything looked secure, but just to be sure you reached your hand out, which was still shaking from terror. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob and twisted it, and in that moment your heart skipped a beat as you thought about what you would do if he really _were_ outside.  
With the sound of a small click the knob stopped turning, and as you felt that reassuring resistance, you let out a huge sigh of relief. It was just as you left it…just as you always fucking left it: locked. 

* * * *

Early the next morning you found yourself at Rick’s house, hovering over a map with him and a few other members of your group.  
“I can’t believe he actually gave us an entire week,” Sasha said. “He originally told us he’d only be a few days.”  
“Real fucking generous of him,” Abraham commented. Sasha smirked and elbowed him in the ribcage.  
You smiled at their little flirtation before turning your attention back to the map. It was hand-drawn and sloppy, but right now it was the best blueprint you had. On it several different areas were marked, including the spot in the woods where you group had been involuntarily introduced to Negan, the numerous roads where his men had blocked the RV, the compound where you massacred that small handful of Saviors, Hilltop’s territory, and Alexandria, of course. Daryl and Glenn stared down at it bleakly.  
“I know this isn’t much,” Rick said, “But today we have a chance to find out more about where Negan’s men are held up.”  
Aaron looked concerned and spoke up: “Rick, you were there on the road. They are a much larger group than we initially thought. They’re probably spread out in multiple places and we have no idea—  
“Then we find out the location to _every single one_ of those places,” you interrupted with a firm voice. You looked over at Rick for affirmation.  
Giving you a silent nod he continued, “The objective for this morning, when they come to pick up our supplies, is to find out where exactly they are taking it.” He traced a finger over one sketch of a road that led out to a blank space.  
“Wherever the supplies goes, that’s probably where Negan spends most of his time,” added Glenn.  
“Exactly,” Rick responded. “The most important thing we need to add to this map is the location of the place that Negan resides. We can’t beat him if we don’t know where he is the majority of the day.”  
For most of this meeting Daryl had been looking around disapprovingly, but at the first mention of fighting Negan he suddenly seemed to brighten up. Rick took this change in demeanor as his cue to make a request: “Alright Daryl. Why don’t you and Y/N head out to the front gate and clear the entrance of any walkers that might block the way for the Saviors?”  
And just like that Daryl frowned once more. “The fuck should we do that for? Those assholes are plenty capable of doin’ their own dirty work!”  
You reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “Right now we need them to think that _we’re_ capable…that we can defend our own community. Negan’s men are going to be here in a few minutes, so let’s just play nice for a little while, okay?” You tried your best to sound reassuring.  
“Whatever,” Daryl mumbled, and the two of you headed outside.  
As you made your way over to Alexandria’s entryway, you passed Carl, Michonne, and Father Gabriel doing a brief, last minute inventory of the supplies. They were making sure everything Negan requested was ready to be hauled off. You thought about how many cans of food those crates held, how many boxes of ammo—all of the essentials your community desperately needed to keep functioning…and more importantly, to keep growing.  
“It ain’t right,” Daryl uttered, noticing the way you eyed the crates longingly.  
“Like I said Daryl, it’s part of the plan. This is Negan’s trade off for us killing his men.”  
He shook his head. “You said so yourself. We did ‘em a favor gettin’ rid of their dead weight. ‘Trade’ ain’t got nothin’ to do with this.”  
You were about to address his skeptical attitude with a sarcastic comment when you heard the familiar, guttural sounds of walkers just outside the wall.  
“Open the gates!” you yelled up to Sasha and Rosita, who were standing at the watchtowers. As the gate rose slowly above your head, you reached behind you to grab the handles of your two swords and pulled them from the sheaths strapped onto your back.  
Looking over at Daryl you said: “You’ve been way too uptight lately about our plans with the Saviors. How about we go blow off some steam?” You could almost make out a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth as he held up his crossbow and positioned one of his arrows in the threshold.  
“Fuck it,” he said. “Not like I got anything better to do right now.” 

* * * *

You had mixed feelings about killing walkers. When the apocalypse first began, you would think about the person each one used to be as you put them down. Over time, however, you learned that those who still were people could be much worse kinds of monsters, and your focus shifted from grieving the dead to trying to outlast the living. Sometimes, slicing off their emaciated, decomposed heads still depressed the hell out of you, but other times you actually found killing them to be an excellent de-stressor. Oftentimes you tried to avoid thinking about how fucked up it was to feel that rush of excitement while going on a murderous rampage, but today you just wanted to let yourself enjoy it. Once again, it was the living that preoccupied your mind.  
From opposite sides of the road you saw two walkers staggering towards you, and in one swift motion you spread your arms out and stuck the blades of your swords through each of their foreheads. You removed your weapons quickly from the skulls and watched the pair of lifeless bodies collapse to the ground. You looked up just in time to see Daryl put an arrow through the eye of a walker that was approaching him head-on. After fighting off a few more stragglers, the main road was empty. “Road’s clear, so where the hell are they?” Daryl asked rather impatiently.  
“They should be here any second,” you responded. You looked off into the woods by the side of the road and noticed a fair amount of walkers lurking between the trees, but you hoped you and Daryl hadn’t made enough of a ruckus to attract them to the entrance. Just as you were about to signal to Sasha and Rosita to reopen the gate so you could wait for the Savior’s arrival from the inside, you heard the honking of a very loud horn.  
“What the fuck—?” you began to ask, turning to see several large trucks driving towards you. For a second you worried that they were driving too fast, and, being this close to the entrance, that they intended to just crash right through the gate. Suddenly the trucks stopped abruptly, the tires making a skidding sound on the pavement, which only added to the noise that the moron in the first truck was still creating with that obnoxious horn. Before you could shout more obscenities in his direction, you noticed that the walkers from the woods were gradually emerging, and that there had been more of them hiding in the shade than you initially thought. “Gotta be a few dozen of ‘em, at least,” Daryl observed as he ran to your side.  
You tightened your grip on your two swords and nodded, “Let’s do this.”  
The two of you were slashing and shooting in every direction, and during the bloodbath, you started to fear that the sheer number of them would overwhelm you. They just kept coming out of the woods faster than you could put them down. Retreating now wasn’t an option—there was no way you could open the gates when this many walkers stood right outside. You figured maybe you and Daryl could lead them down the road, but doing so on foot was risky and it would take a long time to loop back around to Alexandria on a safe route.  
As your mind raced through alternatives, the two of you found yourselves backing up slowly towards the trucks. You were about to tell Daryl that it might be best to just make a run for it when the doors of the trucks opened and an outpouring of Saviors began to charge towards the swarm of walkers with machetes, axes, and other handheld weapons.  
You stood for a second perplexed, and glanced at Daryl, who was also stupefied by the action. Simultaneously you broke away from your trances, looked at each other, and shrugged. You both ran forward to rejoin the battle, dicing up walker brains left and right as red splattered everywhere.  
At one point you saw a Savior trip over a dead body and fall into a pile of leaves, so you put your swords back in their sheaths and reached out to help him up. Once he was back on his feet, you turned to see another walker advancing towards you, and you reached back for your trusty swords yet again. Only this time, you felt yourself grabbing the air as you realized your most prized apparatuses were missing. Some sneaky asshole must’ve snatched them off of you while you were bent over. In an instant the walker was upon you, and with nothing to fight it off you extended your arms, just trying to prevent it from biting your neck. As you struggled to keep the walker at bay, you found yourself pinned up against a tree. You needed to use your good hand to get to the spare bowie knife you had hidden in your belt, but you feared that your stitched up hand alone wouldn’t be enough to resist the walker. Right when the walker’s teeth came disturbingly close to your throat, a baseball bat appeared from behind it and slammed into the back of your decrepit foe’s head. Some of its blood sprayed onto your face, and as the walker fell to the dirt, you looked forward to see none other than Negan himself, smiling pretentiously at the entire spectacle. Behind him you noticed with relief that the Saviors and Daryl were finishing off the last of the mini horde.  
“Well, well, well, what the fuck do we have here? Alexandria’s finest ambassador left completely defenseless against the undead?” he questioned, pretending to sound bemused.  
You glared at him with disdain, which was starting to become a reflex for you any time he opened his mouth.  
“I would have been able to defend myself if that dickhead over there didn’t take my butterfly swords literally behind my fucking back.”  
You spotted the guy who had stolen your weapons and pointed in his direction. Negan looked over at him, clearly aggravated. “Fuckin’ Bill, man.” He made his way over to the Savior named Bill and kept talking:  
“Where’s your sense of honor, you fuckless dirt bag?!” he barked.  
“I’m sorry sir,” Bill began to explain nervously. “I dropped my knife and couldn’t find another one in time, and those swords were right there, so I just—AAUGH!” he screamed as Negan punched him in the gut, knocking the air out of him.  
While Bill doubled over in pain, Negan grabbed the swords from him. “I’ll be taking _those_ , thank you very fucking much.”  
He strode heroically back over to you, and almost bowed his head as he handed your weapons over. As you took them, you noticed Daryl in the background. His crossbow was still loaded and he was watching Negan’s every move very closely.  
“My apologies,” Negan proclaimed, as your focus shifted back to him. “Sometimes my boys can get a bit reckless and try to break a rule or two, but I have ways of reminding them to stay in line.” His fingers drummed against the base of Lucille, which he was now holding in both hands.  
The sight of Lucille combined with his humorous attitude in this situation irked you, and suddenly you were reminded of how this all began. “You have way more to apologize for than _that_ ,” you fired at him. “Why the fuck did you sound that horn in the first place? Just wanted to watch us scramble for our lives yet again?”  
Negan only smiled wider at your frustration. “Whoa…try to relax darling. It’s not like we were gonna leave you in the middle of a mess we created. Moments ago we were all fighting together in perfect fucking team-building harmony, weren’t we? And like I said, sometimes my boys get a little reckless, so I just wanted to help them blow off some steam. I saw an opportunity in the woods and I took it. Surely you can understand _that_ , can’t you?”  
You studied him up and down as he continued: “I mean, why the fuck else would you be out here right now? I’m sure in your condition they could have found another _non_ -injured person to come outside and clear the road…unless Rick is more sadistic than I gave him credit for.”  
Negan chuckled at his own joke and you narrowed your eyes. “Rick is a good guy,” you replied in annoyance.  
“Which is why you probably had to fight with him to come out here today,” he concluded.  
You thought back to the heated argument you had with Rick a few days prior, and how much persuading it took to finally convince him to let you go past the gate for future assignments, so long as Daryl accompanied you. As you recalled this recent event, you broke eye contact with Negan and looked down at the ground.  
Negan took this as a sign that his assumption was correct. “Heh. That’s what I thought. I bet you fucking love coming out here and bashing some heads in. Hell, you might even love it as much as I do!”  
You didn’t like that he could gather all that information just from reading your expressions, and you _especially_ didn’t like that, for the most part, he was right. Looking back up at him you said rigidly: “I have nothing in common with _you_.” Negan smirked and shook his head. “Well then, I guess we don’t have anything else to talk about, so why don’t you and your mute sidekick over there show me and my men the way into Alexandria?”  
You leaned away from the tree to regain your footing. Addressing the entire group you said, “Follow me.” 

As you made your way back to the community, Daryl walked behind you protectively and Negan strolled up next to you, one hand on Lucille and the other tucked into the pocket of his leather coat. He glanced sideways at you.  
“So…butterfly swords. The fuck kinda name is _that_? Do they grow wings or do some other weird fucking butterfly shit?” he quipped.  
Strangely, that last question made you want to laugh, but you kept your face set in a stern expression. Focusing on the road ahead, you stated flatly, “I thought you said we weren’t talking anymore.”  
You weren’t facing him, but you had a feeling he was smiling to himself again. “Damn, just figured I’d ask,” he replied.  
As you approached the gate you waved up to Sasha and Rosita, and the inside of Alexandria slowly revealed itself to the Saviors. Rick stood on the other side of the gate with Michonne to his right and Glenn on his left. A few feet behind them was the rest of the gang hovering close to the supplies. Negan outstretched his hands. “Honey, I’m home!” he bellowed in a singsong voice. Then he strutted towards Rick with the same self-assured expression he always wore when he was trying to assert his dominance.  
Instead of greeting Negan, Rick opted to get straight to the point. “Everything you asked for is over there.” Rick nodded his head in the direction of the supplies. “We packed all of it pretty securely, so you and your men should have no problem loading the crates onto your vehicles.”  
Negan put his hand over his chest like he had just been insulted. “Wow Rick. Didn’t expect you to skip all the fucking formalities and get right to business.”  
You, Rick, and the rest of the group looked at each other, each person no doubt wondering what else Negan could possibly want. Negan stared back at them, flabbergasted by your group’s supposed cluelessness.  
“What? No ‘thank you’ to me or my men for saving your one-handed diplomat and her arrow-wielding hush fuckin’ puppy?”  
At this question you couldn’t help but laugh. Negan turned to you. “And what may I ask is so fucking funny?”  
With an agitated tone of voice you explained, “As I recall already discussing with you, neither of us would have _needed_ saving if you weren’t so hell bent on having your little bit of fun in the woods.”  
You glanced at your friends and they seemed taken aback by how comfortable you were going toe-to-toe with Negan. Seeing such trepidation in the eyes of people you thought of as fearless reminded you of whom exactly it was you were addressing, and immediately you regretted calling him out in front of everyone.  
Negan’s face turned serious as he raised Lucille up, and in a tense moment you thought that maybe he would try to go for your _other_ hand this time. Instead, he shook the bat in your direction, and smiling yet again he said, “Fair fucking point, fair fucking point.”  
You exhaled in relief as Rick continued to look at Negan with his mouth agape. “Dear fucking God, don’t you people know how to laugh?” Negan asked. “You more uptight than the fucking garden gnomes at Hilltop, and I actually _cracked_ one of their skulls!”  
His jokes were once again met with reticence until Daryl broke the silence. “Yeah, but ya still managed to leave your mark on one of us anyway,” he stated, referring to your hand. It was uncharacteristic of Daryl to talk back when there was no strategic advantage to doing so, but sometimes he let his feelings for the people he cared about the most cloud his judgment.  
Negan, who did not seem to appreciate Daryl’s remark, looked as though he was about to threaten Daryl for real when you looked down at your hand and cried, “Oh shit!” The wrap you had on was soaked with some very fresh blood.  
Michonne reached over and took your arm to examine the red stains more closely. “Some of the stiches must have opened up while you were out there fighting.”  
Rick shook his head, clearly irritated. “I knew it. I knew it was too soon to let you go back out there!”  
You didn’t want this to be viewed as a big deal, because that would mean you required medical attention. “Guys, it’s really okay,” you announced. “I’ll just get some fresh bandages and it will be good as new.”  
Michonne narrowed her eyes at you. “Fresh bandages aren’t going to stop the bleeding,” she said matter-of-factly.  
You heard Glenn whisper to Rick, “She should go see Carson so he can stitch her back up.” At the mention of his name you went into fight-or-flight response mode. “NO!” you yelled. Most of the group, not expecting such an outburst at a seemingly harmless suggestion, eyed you with a mixture of confusion and concern. Meanwhile, Negan watched your group debate like it was some form of entertainment for him. He raised his eyebrows and turned to his men. “Wow, so they _do_ fucking speak after all!” For a few minutes, he seemed content to sit back and listen.  
You tried to cover up your panic as you continued talking: “I mean, Rosita stitched me up last time, and I was paying good fucking attention, so I could probably just do it on my own. I’m sure Carson is busy with other things...”  
Rick took a step towards you. “Rosita had to stitch you up because we were stuck in the RV and it was taking a while to get back home that night. But today we are home, so why don’t you just let somebody with experience fix that up for you this time?” You looked at Rick in disbelief. “Experience?” you echoed, raising you voice yet again. “He was an apprentice for Denise, who wasn’t even an actual _doctor_. He has no more training in this than any of us do!”  
You could tell Rick was getting fed up with you. “Why are you being so stubborn about this? Just go to Carson and—  
“Hey!” Daryl stepped in and shouted. He walked over to you and stood face to face with Rick. “She already said she doesn’t wanna go there, man. Just let Rosita do it like last time.”  
Rick eyed Daryl suspiciously, and as he opened his mouth to respond, Negan decided he was done sitting on the sidelines. “As much as I am getting a fucking kick out of all this trouble in paradise, I gotta know: are you people actually telling me that you don’t have a real fucking doctor on these premises?”  
Turning to Negan you explained, “Well, what we have is more of a _trainee_. Denise was our best medical practitioner, but since your two-faced friend over there,” you alluded to Dwight, who was standing off to the side, “shot her through the eye with an arrow, that’s now unfortunately all we’ve got.”  
Negan appeared as though he was lost in deep thought. “I see,” he said. He glanced up at Rick. “I think you and I need to have a private chat before my men and I take off for the afternoon. Why don’t we take a stroll through Alexandria for a few minutes? You can be my personal fucking tour guide!”  
Despite Negan’s belittling remarks, Rick seemed to approve of this idea. “Alright, just give me a second.” He turned to you. “I want you to wait in the infirmary until I get back. I need to send somebody to patch up your hand. That, and we have a conversation I’d like to finish as well.”  
You crossed your arms. “Fine, but I’m taking Daryl with me.”  
Rick looked at Daryl and the two of them appeared to reach some sort of tacit understanding, the tenseness that passed between them only moments ago all but forgotten.  
You felt Daryl’s strong hand on your back as he guided you down the road. Looking behind you, you saw Negan and Rick walking off in the opposite direction, and you wished you could be privy to their discussion. True, Negan was a pain in the ass, but you’d take listening to him inflate his own ego over being stuck at the infirmary any day. That building was the _last_ place you wanted to be right now…or ever.

* * * *

You sat in a small metal chair, your fingers tapping rhythmically against one of the supporting legs. You refused to go anywhere near the examination table, since you didn’t plan on being a patient today anyway. You looked over at Daryl, who was leaning against a wall and gazing out a small window on the door that led into this room. Your left knee bobbed up and down uncontrollably, and your heartbeat fluttered at irregular paces. You sang a song in your head to go along with the beat you were creating with your fingers, trying to concentrate on something mundane. Suddenly, Daryl turned around. “Shit, would ya cut that out? Been listening to that sound for the past fifteen minutes…it’s driving me crazy!”  
You shot out of your seat and brought your hands to your head. “I can’t Daryl!” Your voice was trembling.  
“Ya can’t? What do ya mean you can’t…” his voice trailed off as he began to comprehend the deeper meaning behind your words.  
“It’s one thing to pass him on the streets every now and then,” you started, “but being stuck in the same _room_ as him…” You did not want to finish your sentence, and you felt your throat tighten as your eyes welled with tears.  
Daryl’s hands held onto both of your arms. “You really believe I’m gonna let that happen? Why do ya think I’ve been guardin’ this door? That sick son of a bitch ain’t gettin’ anywhere near you.”  
You buried your face in his chest. “Sometimes I wish I could just leave. I know it’s shitty out there, but in a way it would be so much easier.”  
You knew Daryl hated it when you brought up the idea of leaving, but for a second you considered coming at it from a new angle and proposing this time that he come with you. Before you could say another word, however, you heard footsteps and muffled conversation coming from the room on the other side. You pushed away from Daryl and glued your eyes to the door, frigid with fear.  
In an instant the door swung open and there stood Negan, once again trying his best to make a grand entrance. In any other predicament you’d have the complete opposite reaction, but upon seeing Negan in this moment, all you could do was smile as if your prayers had been answered.  
“Oh, thank God,” you sighed with relief.  
“Well, _that’s_ fucking new,” Negan exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. “For once you look genuinely fucking happy to see me. I guess that means you’re gonna take this news pretty well then!”  
You eyed him with bewilderment and asked, “What news?”  
You looked over Negan’s shoulder and saw Rick walking in behind him. “Negan and I came to an agreement that it would be best for both parties involved if we sent a person from our group over to his community. We need somebody to oversee the distribution of our supplies…somebody who can establish a working relationship with the Saviors.”  
Negan moved closer to where you were standing. “I’ll spare you from having to connect the fucking dots. He means _you_ , darling.”  
For the second time today, you stared at Rick in disbelief. “Really? Why do you want to send me?”  
Negan answered for him: “Because believe it or not, you’re pretty fucking good at this diplomatic shit.”  
You looked up at him in exaggerated astonishment. “Wow, did you actually just compliment somebody _besides_ yourself?”  
Negan grinned at your attempt to insult him, as Daryl stood by, observing your interactions. He did not seem to like what he was seeing. “How the hell do we know she’ll be safe over there?” he asserted.  
You noticed Negan’s grip tightening on Lucille. “Whatever the fuck you are implying, I’d like you to know that my men aren’t permitted to run around like fucking wild dogs. She’ll be perfectly safe at my compound. It’s just business, understand?”  
You could tell Daryl did not trust a word Negan said, but looking down at Lucille, he chose to revert back to his tight-lipped nature.  
Rick took this as an opportunity to voice his reasoning. “He told me he’s got a doctor over there who can treat that hand of hers with proper care. Besides, it’s just going to be for one week. The Saviors will bring her back safe and sound when they come to collect the next round of supplies. Negan and his men saw Alexandria, so it’s only fair that one of ours gets to visit the Sanctuary next. He took a chance coming here today—walking alone with me down Alexandria’s main path. Could’ve been ambushed at any moment, but instead no blood was shed. I trust that he will keep his word and do the same.”  
As Negan listened to Rick’s short speech, he stood tall and proud. “Of course, if you had come back from our little walk without me, my group would’ve just burned this place to the ground, but I digress. Since this is all fucking settled, I’m gonna head back out there and brief my men on our new arrangement. See you fuckers in a few minutes.”  
As soon as Negan left the room, Rick turned to you and spoke in a hushed voice. “I want you to get as much information on this place as you can. How long does it take to get there, _where_ is it, how many people live inside those walls, how much time does Negan spend in different parts of the compound—  
Daryl disrupted Rick’s endless list of objectives. “You sure she should be doin’ this by herself?”  
Rick exhaled in frustration. “Look, he specifically asked for her, and her alone. Unfortunately right now we don’t have the luxury of making demands. Plus…I don’t think he likes you very much.”  
Daryl shrugged, unaffected by Rick’s last comment. “Good, ‘cause I ain’t very fond of that prick either” he retorted.  
Rick smirked at Daryl’s reply and then turned his attention back to you, his expression becoming more serious. “So what do you say?” he entreated. “Can I count on you to do this? You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but they have a professional who can stitch you up, so that’s something to consider. Negan said he wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”  
You held up a hand, signaling to Rick that he needn’t say another word…you had already made your decision. “There’s nothing to consider,” you insisted. “Of _course_ I’m going.”


	3. More to Learn

You trailed a few feet behind Negan as the two of you followed the rest of his men to the trucks. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder one more time as the gates to Alexandria closed. Rick was still watching you leave, and you half-expected to see Daryl standing next to him. Much to your disappointment, his back was turned away from the gate as he stormed down the community’s main road. You couldn’t entirely blame him for being upset. He was still very suspicious of Negan and part of him probably didn’t expect you to come back. And maybe he was right. Choosing to go was indeed a risk, but it was one you were willing to take at this point. True, Alexandria was your home, however sometimes you couldn’t help but feel like you were caged in there. As a result, the apparent olive branch Negan extended to your people today felt less like a trap and more like an opportunity. The catch was that you would have to endure an entire car ride with the lead Savior. It would be a heavy price to pay for this temporary break from the norm.   
“Alright, hop the fuck in,” Negan ordered as you approached the passenger side of his vehicle.   
“Wow, I’m surprised…head honcho of the Saviors doesn’t have his own personal, post-apocalyptic chauffer?” you asked in a mocking tone.  
Negan lowered his eyelids and looked at you. “I’m the driver in my own fucking life. Shouldn’t be any different when I’m actually fucking driving. By the way,” he added, pulling something out of his back pocket, “I’m gonna need you to put this on.”   
You eyes darted from the object in his hand back to his face. You stared at him blankly. “Is that a _blindfold_?”  
“Keen fucking observational skills you got there. And yes, that is exactly what this is. And you’re gonna wear it,” he affirmed, “or this part of the deal is off the fucking table.”   
You were wise enough to know when to pick your battles, so you grabbed the blindfold from his hand, hopped in the truck, and put it on. Negan smiled victoriously at your compliance.   
When he got in on the driver’s side, you turned to him. “I hope you know, it doesn’t make a difference whether or not I’ve got my sight. I can still kick your ass all the same.”   
Once again, you couldn’t see, but some how you knew that your fighting spirit strangely entertained him. 

Ten minutes had passed. In that time the truck had made one right turn and one left. You knew how much time had elapsed because you were keeping track of the minutes in your head. Although a seemingly tedious task, it was a nice alternative to chatting up your unfortunate driving companion. In fact, besides the initial altercation concerning your current eyewear, the ride had been rather peaceful.   
That was, until, you heard Negan clear his throat. Even in total blackness you could tell that his eyes were on you.   
“You know, the last time I blindfolded a woman, she was way more excited than you appear to be right now,” he said impishly.   
“I guess it helped her through…not having to actually _see_ you, I mean,” you deadpanned. If he was trying to flirt with you, then you were having none of it. You hoped your sardonic reply would shut him up, but instead he laughed.   
“You know, usually I don’t take too kindly to smart-mouthed motherfuckers, but for whatever reason, your twisted sense of humor is starting to grow on me.”  
You remained silent, but a small smile escaped your lips as you wondered why a man as egotistical as Negan didn’t just tolerate, but seemed to _enjoy_ being berated by you.  
Once more, Negan broke the silence. “By the way, you know what the fuck I realized I forgot to ask you? All this time shooting the shit with you and I forget the most obvious fucking thing in the world.”   
You weren’t too keen on guessing games. “No idea, but keep talking,” you replied. “I actually like listening to this self-deprecating side of you.”   
“Here I am with Rick trying to explain exactly who it is I want accompanying me on my way back to the Sanctuary,” Negan began, “and then I finally come to the realization: your _name_. I still don’t know your God damn name. You know how shit-fucking humiliating it was to stand there and say, ‘the girl with the fucking _butterfly swords?_ ’”   
You smiled wryly, relishing for a moment in the fact that you were an indirect cause of his humiliation. You knew, however, that the issue had to be remedied. “As much as I don’t want to save you from future embarrassment, I _really_ don’t want everyone in your community calling me that, so I’ll tell you: my name is Y/N.”   
You crossed your arms, curious to hear what he would say next after being formally introduced.  
“Y/N…” he paused for a second to let that sink in and then smiled mischievously. “Ugly-ass name. I think I liked my first title for you better.”  
You shot up in your seat. “What the hell is your problem?” you demanded to know, feeling offended by his words.  
“Fuck, just relax! I’m kidding, okay?” Negan chortled. “Still can’t take a fucking joke, I see. Anyway, why don’t you explain to me how your weapons got their badass name?”   
“Your attempts to _distract_ me are a fucking joke,” you muttered under your breath, but it was still loud enough for Negan to hear.  
“Come again?” he asked.  
You figured he knew you were keeping track of the directions throughout the journey, but you didn’t say that out loud. “Oh, please,” you stated dryly. “Suddenly you’re the guy that wants to get to know me better? I’m sure you’ve got some ulterior motive.”  
Negan was quiet for a second, most likely pretending to consider what you were suggesting. “Possibly. Or maybe I’m just trying to have a conversation with you because I’m bored as fuck.”   
You wanted to believe it was that simple. But in _this_ world, everybody had some kind of angle. And yet, even though Negan had an unsettling knack for reading your expressions, he still didn’t know you all that well, and he had no clue that you were, indeed, a fantastic multitasker. You concluded that you could converse with Negan and still easily count to yourself the approximate number of minutes you spent on each road to your destination.  
“Fuck it,” you said, shifting in your seat so that you were facing more in his direction. “I can’t tell you the exact history of the swords, but I can try to explain how I acquired them.”  
“Whatever the fuck works,” Negan replied.   
You hesitated. “It’s kind of a long anecdote.”  
Negan chuckled in response. “We’ve got the time. You see me flying out the fucking window right now?” Then he paused. “Oh fuck, of course you can’t, given the circumstances.”  
Underneath your blindfold you rolled your eyes. “Speaking of, can I please take this thing off now?” You figured one last-ditch effort couldn’t hurt. “I think I made it pretty clear that I’m not plotting anything against you. Besides, I tell stories way better when I have all of my senses.”  
“Well, since you asked so fucking nicely, and because I’m still bored as fuck, yes.”   
Upon hearing Negan’s approval, you tore the loathsome cloth away from your face. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the road ahead. “Alright, I already warned you that this might take a while, so you better fucking promise not to fall asleep at the wheel as I’m telling you this.”  
Negan smiled suggestively. “Fuck, I kinda like when you put me in my place like that.”   
You shook your head and stared at him, unamused. “Just shut up and listen.”  
“Don’t mind if I fucking do,” he responded.  
You waited for a minute to see if Negan truly intended to sit back all ears with nary a comment. As he continued to drive down the road in silent anticipation, you took that as your cue to begin:   
“The story I was told my entire life revolves around my…I forget how many “greats” grandfather. His name was Ethan. He was born and raised in Georgia, but he had a wandering, adventurous spirit. In 1849, when he was in his early twenties, California beckoned him west with the promise of gold. He followed other young opportunists down into the mines, hoping to find a fortune. After several years of hard labor, the only thing he found was crushing disappointment. His repeated failures to strike it rich changed his outlook on life…streets that he once envisioned as glimmering remained in his bitter reality nothing more than dusty pavements. More than a decade went by, and although he could have returned to Georgia, Ethan chose to remain in the west. Perhaps he was punishing himself for his past naiveté by struggling to maintain his meager lifestyle—a harsh reminder that the world he lived in was not meant for dreamers.”   
You stopped there and glanced over at Negan, who was half-smiling and appeared to have a dazed look in his eye. “If I truly am boring you, just tell me now so I don’t drone on like a fucking idiot.”  
Negan turned to you in surprise. “You joking? This is the most poetic shit I’ve heard in a long time. Don’t stop now!”  
Something about how enraptured Negan was by your storytelling filled you with pride and propelled you to continue, reciting words you had memorized after listening to this tale countless times: “One day, while toiling in the mines, he caught wind of gossip that the state of California had approved of a project to lay track eastward and construct the nation’s first transcontinental railroad. Without wild expectations, save to escape the monotony of his first job, he signed on to help build the Central Pacific. Initially, Ethan focused only on earning his weekly wage and trying to stay out of danger. However, his life was altered once more when a large group of Chinese immigrants were hired to join the existing work force. In their eyes he saw something old but familiar: a shimmer of hope that the ever-coveted ‘American dream’ was within their grasp. One man in particular captured his attention, since he had brought with him from home a very peculiar looking pair of swords. Through his broken English, Ethan learned that his name was Jianyu, and that he was a practicing martial artist. The swords, he explained to Ethan, were not weapons so much as a means to channel his energy during these trying times. As it turned out, Jianyu had been barely surviving as a farmer in Southern China, and the threat of extreme poverty motivated him to leave his wife and two daughters, to come to the U.S and earn for them a better life. Although the overseers of the railroad worked him like a dog, he still smiled every day at the thought of returning to his family a successful provider. Upon hearing this inspiring tale, Ethan wept, wondering how he himself could feel more lost than this man who was so far from home. He realized in this moment that he needed to find his own motivator, and so a new friendship was formed, as Ethan humbly asked Jianyu to train him in martial arts. On days when the two had time to spare, they would head off to an isolated hilltop and practice the wielding of their duel swords. Ethan, of course, used wooden replicas that he carved himself. Things went on like this for a few years, and slowly Ethan felt that old hope returning to him yet again. Despite facing many hardships, Jianyu’s passion for life never seemed to fade. Then one day, the two found out that their working group had been reassigned to create a large tunnel through some mountains, which called for the use of heavy-duty explosives in the form of black powder. Not even two weeks on the new job, all it took was one blast gone wrong, and Jianyu and some workers standing nearby were sent flying into huge rocks. Ethan had watched this event unfold from a distance, and as the smoke dispersed he ran toward his friend. Jianyu had not died on impact, but his injuries were clearly fatal. Jianyu used his final breaths to tell Ethan to take the swords, and to channel his energy into building something more for himself. And with that final request, Ethan saw the life drain from his face. In this pivotal moment, Ethan could have retreated down into his meaningless hole in the mines. He could’ve taken his friend’s death as a sign that, once again, this world was not meant for dreamers. Instead, after giving Jianyu a proper burial, he picked up the swords and picked up his own life in the process, moving back to Georgia and opening up a carpenter business. Eventually, he had a family of his own. He also tried for many years to find out more about Jianyu’s family, so that he might help them as a way to repay his friend. Sadly, the overseers of the tunnel construction destroyed Jianyu’s records to cover up the accident. But the one thing they would never lay their corrupt hands on were his swords, which Ethan eventually passed on to his first-born son. Since then, Jianyu’s swords have been bestowed upon each generation’s first-born in my family, all the way down to my dad. Being a skilled martial artist himself, he treasured the rare swords so much that he flew all the way to China to find a specialist who would make a brand-new, fully-functional, identical pair.”   
You gazed off into the horizon…the sun was beginning to set. At some point you had gotten so lost in the story that you’d forgotten Negan was next to you listening. He sat still in the driver’s seat, hell bent on hearing the ending.   
“When the apocalypse began, I had to make some decisions about what to leave behind. Jianyu’s swords were too old to fight with effectively, so I only took the replicas. Sometimes I wonder if they’re still sitting in my old house, or if some idiot took them out of the display case thinking they could actually be used as effective weapons. I pray that they are still there, because like Jianyu said, fighting is not what they were even intended for.”   
Reminiscing on this tale from your childhood had taken an emotional toll on you. Staring out the passenger seat window and up at the purple clouds, you felt weighed down by memories that pleaded with you to stay with them in the past. It was awfully tempting; to get so caught up in the fantasy of your old life that you no longer faced the grim truth of what was in front of you. You focused on the myriad of colors in the subdued sky, waiting for Negan to say something.   
“Holy shit, I’m actually fucking speechless. You’re better at telling stories than I am at screwing around, and I am _very_ fucking gifted in that department.”  
“Good to know,” you blurted out without thinking.  
Negan raised his eyebrows and you quickly drew your hand to your mouth, as if doing so would be enough to take it back.  
“Damn, I’ll listen to every single one of your life stories if that’s all it takes to get you in the fuckin’ mood!” he laughed.  
“Calm your bat, okay? I’m not in any sort of ‘mood,’” you corrected him. “I’ve just never actually gotten to tell that story before.”   
“You mean to tell me none of the kumbaya-loving pricks from your group are as fucking inquisitive as I am?”  
“Even when you put that way…no,” you answered. “They respect that I’m not all that open when it comes to talking about my past.”   
“Seemed pretty fucking open to it just now,” Negan muttered. His face then brightened with another question: “Tell me, what _else_ would you be open to?”   
“The idea of getting out of this truck,” you replied flatly. There was no way you would be tricked into adding more fuel to _that_ particular fire. “By the way, are we there yet?”   
“If I knew you were gonna question me like a fucking five year old during this ride, I would’ve stuck you in the back somewhere,” he said, obviously a little bitter about his advances being shot down so brusquely.   
You crossed your arms and opted to stare out the passenger seat window for the rest of the drive, which only lasted a few more minutes.   
“Ahh…home sweet fuckin’ home. Welcome to the Sanctuary,” Negan declared with a smug smile. He expected you to be impressed by this place.  
And you were.   
You eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in as many details of this outside view while you had the chance. The “fence,” for lack of a better word, that surrounded the area was a blockade of walkers pierced by spears and planted into the ground, all while they were still alive. Although it was a horrific site, you had to admit that it made for a tactful protective barrier. The building beyond this man-made wall looked reminiscent of an old mill or factory of some sort, standing tall with smokestacks at the top of the roof. There were many other shorter buildings surrounding it, almost like a small village.   
As Negan’s truck approached, a gate opened and the two of you pulled into a garage. Inside stood what must have been close to three-dozen men, all waiting patiently for the truck to come to a full stop. You thought it was odd how they seemed frozen where they were, not even talking to one another as they watched the vehicle with anticipation…or was it dread? Something about the entire situation creeped you out, and you were reminded of the cult-like way the Saviors acted the first time you crossed paths with them. As you stared back at them now, you could still hear the whistling that had made your skin crawl…  
Negan watched you tense up at the sight of his men and waved a hand in front of your face. “Earth to fuckin’ Y/N! Don’t tell me the balls you had when you showed Rick who’s boss by negotiating with me just suddenly decided to fall off?”   
You snapped out of your mini panic attack and eyed him with scorn. This was your first time at this complex and you weren’t going to let him make you look weak. “Fuck you,” you said, pulling on the door handle and hopping out of the truck.   
“I hope you do,” Negan grinned, and then got out on his side as well, making sure to grab Lucille in the process.   
As soon as his feet hit the floor, every Savior in that tiny garage bent down on one knee and lowered their heads. You felt out of place being the only person standing besides Negan, but you would never voluntarily bow to him, especially since you weren’t even being ordered to do so.   
Clearly however, these men didn’t need any orders. They already knew what to do when their supreme leader showed up. Negan surveyed the room with a stern expression, but you could tell that he relished in the respect that his mere presence commanded of these men. In a loud voice he instructed, “Everybody up.”   
When they rose, the silence persevered as they listened intently to Negan’s next words. “As you all know,” he continued, “I have just returned from the Alexandria Safe-Zone to collect on our half of the deal. I spoke with their leader, who many of you know as Rick—  
“Rick the Prick!” one Savior whispered, and some of his friends chuckled.  
Negan, displeased with even the slightest interruption, glared in the direction of the joke with a hard look of impatience, and the men immediately stifled their laughter.   
“He and I agreed that in order to improve relations, we’d need to get to know each other a little better. As a result, he sent over a reliable Alexandrian.” He extended an open arm in your direction. “This is Y/N. She is here to oversee the distribution of supplies and to act as a liaison between our communities.”  
Some of the men, really studying you for the first time now that Negan had directed the attention away from himself, eyed you with a hunger that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You wondered if you had walked into a trap after all.   
Negan noticed the way they were staring at you and added in an exacerbated tone: “All of you listen carefully to what I’m about to say. She’s here for the reasons I’ve stated and for those reasons alone, not to be your fucking excuse to jerk yourselves off tonight. The community she comes from is a group of people I respect and want to try to work with, and anyone who even attempts to lay a hand on her will majorly fuck that up.”   
He swung Lucille around in his hand and then placed the bat perpendicular to the ground like it was some kind of scepter. “Just remember,” he cautioned, “You fuck this up…I fuck you up.”   
And with a quick nod of his head, the men dispersed to return to their usual duties. Negan faced you. “See? That wasn’t so fucking terrifying, now was it? These sons of bitches can be civil when they need to be. I swear when we rolled in you looked at them like they were a pack of fucking cavemen!”   
For the first time since you met him, you gave Negan a sincere smile of gratitude. “As uncomfortable as that speech was for me, thanks for making it clear that no nonsense will be tolerated.”  
“No-nonsense.” Negan dwelled on the phrase for a moment. “I like that about you. I’m the same way. Shit…I think that’s something else we’ve got in common!”   
“You’re really reaching for similarities, huh?” you said sarcastically.   
“I just call it like I see it,” Negan replied. “And right now I see that your hand’s still in bad shape, so first thing’s first, Dwight here is gonna take you on over to our head doctor to get you stitched up. DWIGHT!” he shouted.   
You watched Dwight poke his head out from behind another truck and reluctantly saunter over to where you were standing.   
“Yeah boss?” he asked.   
“Take Y/N to see Carla,” Negan ordered. “Then bring her back here and we’ll get this supplies unloaded.”   
“Yes, sir,” Dwight responded.   
“Oh, one more thing,” Negan added before you headed off. “I’m going to need to take _those_.” He pointed to your swords.  
Instinctively, you gripped the sword handles sticking out behind you. “Do I really have to? I think _both_ of us know it would be pretty stupid for me to try and slice anyone’s head off when I’m in unfamiliar territory.”  
Negan just shrugged. “Well, you and I may know you’re not fucking stupid, but my _people_ don’t know that yet. They see some stranger wandering around freely with a weapon and there’s bound to be some unnecessary paranoia.”  
You unstrapped your swords from your back. “Point made,” you nodded, and reluctantly handed them over.   
As Negan took your beloved weapons, Dwight cleared his throat. “Follow me,” he said to you in a hollow voice, and began walking out of the garage.   
As you turned away from Negan, he called after you, “Oh, by the way, that whole ‘balls’ thing from earlier was strictly metaphorically speaking. From what I’ve observed I can tell you are a hundred percent woman.” He smiled big at his sly remark.   
You turned away from Negan once more, not wanting him to see the similar response of a grin spread across your face. “Keep trying to come on to me like that, and you’re a hundred percent _dead_ ,” you quipped, and kept on walking. 

Despite your best efforts to do so, Dwight refused to participate in even the tiniest bit of small talk while escorting you to the hospital, leaving you to your own thoughts. You weren’t sure _when_ exactly it had happened, but somewhere between Negan’s first visit to Alexandria and now, your opinion about him had changed slightly. Maybe there was more to him than you initially thought. True, he was talented at making a daunting first impression, but he was also pretty good at making you feel protected once you knew that the two of you were on the same side. There was an interesting dichotomy to his personality that you wanted to understand, as much as you hated to admit it to yourself. On one side of the coin he was all business with his Saviors, and on the other he acted nonchalant and personable. Conversing with him had been one of the easiest things you had done in a long time, and even when you expected the conversation to be one-sided, he surprisingly proved to be an excellent listener. You liked that you didn’t need a filter around him, and respected that he treated you with the same level of honesty. The fact that he seemed to be physically attracted to you as well didn’t scare you as originally expected. From what you could tell, he wouldn’t touch you unless you expressed being completely okay with it, which made you wonder: would you _be_ completely okay with it…?  
Dwight finally decided to interrupt the little voice in your head right as you were pondering this vital question. “We’re here,” he monotonously announced. “Go inside, up two flights of steps, and you’ll find Carla at the first door on your left.”   
“Sounds easy enough,” you said, while opening the entrance to the building. “By the way, thanks for—   
You stopped trying to thank him when you turned around and saw that he had already taken off in the opposite direction.   
Once you had made your swift journey up the steps, you arrived at the first door on your left and walked through. Inside awaited a thin woman in a long white coat, probably in her early fifties, with short brown hair tied back in a pony tail and crystal blue eyes. She looked up from some papers she was reading and gave you a welcoming smile as you entered.   
“Hello! I’m Carla.” She had what sounded like a southern accent. “You must be Y/N. From Alexandria?”   
“Yes, that’s me,” you responded, wondering how she knew about your presence at the Sanctuary already. “Did the poorly patched up hand give it away?” you added, figuring a joke might mask your bewilderment.  
“Partially!” she chuckled. “Word around here travels fast is all.”   
You looked around the small patient room you were standing in, admiring the professional looking tools and equipment Carla had at her disposal.   
“Wow,” you remarked. “This place looks totally untouched…like an actual hospital room. Makes me feel like I’m just dropping in for my yearly physical as if there was no apocalypse.”  
“Sometimes it makes me feel that way too,” Carla sighed. “At least when I get visitors with light injuries. It’s when the critical ones come in that I’m forced to face reality.”   
Her face sank, most likely thinking about some of the worst cases she’s had to treat since she’s been at the Sanctuary, but in an instant she was smiling again. “Luckily for you little lady, your issue pretty much falls into the former group. How about we get that hand of yours stitched up so you can get back to business?”   
“That is probably the best question I’ve been asked in about a week,” you replied. “And the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ that sounds excellent to me.”   
As Carla weaved black thread through your seven-day-old wounds, closing them up once and for all, she told you a little more about her background and how she stumbled upon the Sanctuary. Originally from Texas, she and her husband had hightailed it for D.C as soon as the walkers started showing up, figuring that would be where they could find the most protection. About halfway there, they made a pit stop for gas and got ambushed by some thieves who stole their car, and so they resorted to making the rest of the journey on foot.   
“I was always book smart. I knew how to heal. But my husband—he was the resourceful one…he was the _survivor_ ” she explained. “What happened to him was just unfair.”   
“What _did_ happen to him, if you don’t mind my asking?” You were genuinely curious about her late husband’s fate. Also, you knew it was important to get to know the people of this community, and you weren’t against making an actual friend out of Carla.  
“I don’t mind,” she stated. “It’s refreshing to talk to someone who seems truly interested in what I have to say.” She paused for a second to gather her emotions then continued:  
“One night, after walking for miles and miles, we grew so wary that we were desperate to find another vehicle. Henry saw one that looked abandoned on the side of the road and tried hotwiring it, since we couldn’t find any keys. I hid off in the woods keeping lookout for any strange movements. Guess I wasn’t lookin' close enough because suddenly Henry raised his head above the steering wheel and was shot point-blank between the eyes…there was no healing that.”   
At this time Carla had completed her work on your injury and you were just sitting there listening. She blinked back some tears as she finished her story. “Eventually his killers came out of the woods, threw his body to the curb, and sped off into the night with the car. After I buried my husband, I just continued walkin' all the way to D.C as we had planned. I knew I had to persevere, but I didn’t know what exactly I was botherin' to preserve, because I felt like an empty shell of a person. Some how I managed to drag my sorry ass all the way to Virginia, but by the time I got here I was practically starving. That’s where Negan’s men found me. I told them I was a doctor and they took me in. At the time they really _were_ true saviors in my eyes…”  
She trailed off, getting lost in her own thoughts. You wondered if Carla was indicating that some how her views on the Saviors had been altered since then.   
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you offered up, meaning every word.  
“Oh honey don’t be sorry. By now everyone that’s left on this earth has seen his or her share of horrifyin' things. Way I see it is we can all be sorry for one another, or we can all be hopeful for one another about the future,” she explained.   
“Not too often you hear something that optimistic,” you commented, hopping off the bench you were sitting on and heading for the door.  
“Somebody around here ought to be,” she retorted. “Too many people in this complex only live day to day. Point to point. It just feels like survival when what we should _really_ be focusing on is buildin' something better.”   
You weren’t sure what she meant by “points,” but you liked her attitude. “You’re quite a visionary, Carla, I have to admit! If you’ve got ideas, you should talk to Negan about making improvements around here.”  
At that remark Carla threw her head back and laughed. “And you say _I’m_ an optimist?” You shook your head, puzzled by her reaction. “Sweetheart, there are a lot of rules around here, but the most important, unspoken one is that _nobody_ questions Negan. You don’t mess with the new world order…not when he’s the _one_ givin' the orders.”   
“I feel like he might actually listen if people weren’t so afraid to talk to him,” you said. “Who knows…maybe I could influence him if no one else will try.”   
“Well I’ll tell you one thing my dear, when you’re at the Sanctuary, you’re in Negan’s world, and he likes it just the way it is.”   
She put her hand on your shoulder as you were leaving and gave you one last piece of advice: “Just be careful with him, okay?” She motioned to your hand. “Don’t forget how you got that in the first place.”   
You smiled at Carla reassuringly. “Thanks for fixing me up today.” You patted her on the shoulder, and turned to walk out the door. 

* * * *

The sun had set when you returned to the trucks just in time to see Negan directing his men to lift open the trunks of the vehicles and begin unloading them. He indicated for you to come over to where he was standing with another man who was holding a clipboard and a pencil.   
“Glad to see you in one fucking piece, Y/N,” Negan said. He turned to his friend with the office supplies. “This is Daniel. He’s our general keeper of inventory at this place. So as the boxes are being unloaded, you just let old Daniel know what’s in each crate so he can write it down and then figure out where in the Sanctuary it’s gonna be sent to.”   
Daniel shot you a quick smile as he tucked his pencil behind his ear. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/N.”   
He was an older man of Asian descent, most likely somewhere around sixty-five years old, with a long grey beard and dark brown eyes. The beard and a few wrinkles on his face gave away his age more than anything else, because it looked to you like he was still in pretty good shape.   
He extended his right hand out toward yours for a handshake, and immediately retracted it. “Oh shit, I didn’t realize…” he muttered eyeing your fresh stitches with embarrassment.   
“It’s okay.” You grabbed his hand and shook it anyway. “I’ve lasted this long…I’ll be damned if a fucking handshake is what does me in now.”  
Daniel laughed and elbowed Negan. “Ha! I like her already. You go off and tend to your other matters boss. Between the two of us, I don’t think you got anything to worry about.”   
Negan nodded at Daniel and then winked at you before heading off. “I never fuckin’ worried.” 

Over the course of the next hour, you started to get to know the Saviors on a first name basis as they came over with different crates of supplies and Daniel introduced you. It was easy to see why Negan put him in charge of this particular job. It required a lot of interaction with different people among the community, and Daniel seemed to be universally well liked. At one point, when most of the supplies had been accounted for and organized, he disappeared and then came back with a couple of sandwiches and cans of soda, inviting you to join him at a small table.   
“The perks of knowing where all kinds of items are stored…I can always get my hands on the good stuff,” he beamed as he sat down opposite you.   
Examining the delicious looking sandwich, you nodded in agreement. “It’s a pretty nice job you’ve got here, and I can see why you got it. The Saviors seem to hold you in high regard.”   
He laughed a little at your observation. “For the most part, yes, but I never allow myself to get _too_ comfortable. There’s more than a few of ‘em around here that covet my position.”  
You thought Daniel was smart for not being too trustworthy of others. “I sort of hear what you’re saying…” you began, leaning in closer and lowering your voice to a whisper. “I think in general these Saviors don’t mind my presence, but I can’t help noticing a few that look at me with a lot of resentment in their eyes—particularly with Dwight and his group of buddies. I feel like the only reason they’re not trying to kill me is because of Negan.”   
Daniel thought about what you said for a moment. “That may be true, but keep in mind, you _just_ got here. You can’t expect to be everybody’s best friend in a day, or even ever. There are always going to be people in your life who try to bring you down, but that just gives you something more to rise against. Life was that way beforehand too.”   
You admired Daniel’s directness and you were curious to know more about him. “So what kinds of things did you have to rise against?”   
“Well in case you couldn’t tell, my ancestors were Japanese,” he revealed. “I was actually born in an internment camp in New Mexico. That’s where my parents, though technically American citizens, were relocated during World War II, and that’s where they had me.”  
“Th-that’s awful,” you stuttered, but Daniel dismissed your remark with a wave of his hand.  
“Not really,” he stated. “I was an infant when the war ended and the camp shut down, so I don’t remember. It was the aftermath and growing up that was a challenge.”   
Daniel proceeded to tell you about all the ways he was tormented and teased during his childhood. How boys would stretch their eyes and shout “Yellow fever! Yellow fever!” when he walked into a classroom. How one older kid whose father had been killed in action during the war tracked him down as he was walking home from school and beat him within an inch of his life.   
“It took a lot of courage for me to continue on with my education, especially after that incident. I kept telling myself that one day I would be successful and that I would be far away from their cruelty.”  
“Why target _you_ though? You were just as much an American as they were, and it’s not like you had anything to do with the war,” you wondered.  
Daniel sighed. “When events happen that are out of our control—whether it be war or an apocalypse—people always need a scapegoat to deal with their emotions.”   
“It just doesn’t seem fair,” you said, and Daniel shrugged. You took his silence as an opportunity to ask another question. “So tell me, did you ever find the success you were looking for?”  
“I did indeed!” Daniel answered. “I went to college here in Virginia, got a business degree, and became an accomplished banker. I ended up staying in this state, meeting my wife, and having two beautiful children. I got to enjoy my success, and my family, for some time…” he trailed off, his expression beginning to sadden.  
You understood what that meant. Just like everyone, the life he had lead before the undead roamed the earth was all but a distant memory.   
You were going to tell him you were sorry until you remembered what Carla had mentioned about that earlier. Instead, you opted for a lighthearted approach. “So, you were born in 1945?” you asked in astonishment. “That would make you what? Seventy-one? I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t have pegged you for anything past the mid-sixties.”  
Daniel rose from his seat. “There’s an old saying by Confucius that I think you should know: Flattery will get you nowhere.”   
You stood up, brushed some crumbs from your shirt and crossed your arms. “I don’t think Confucius was the one who originally said that.”  
“How should I know?” Daniel smirked as he turned to head back to work. “I’ve never read a fucking thing written by the guy!” 

After you and Daniel had finished overseeing the distribution of a couple more crates of supplies, you were starting to feel tired. As Daniel bid you farewell and headed off to his quarters for the night, you noticed a girl with curly red hair walking your way. You greeted her with a friendly “hello.”   
She was young, probably no more than seventeen, and definitely on the scrawny side. Her face was freckled all over, but you thought the marks worked with her complexion.   
Without greeting you back she asked, “Are you Y/N?” Her voice was quiet. You imagined her words were so light that if there were a gust of wind, they would simply blow away, disappearing with the air before reaching your ears. Luckily for her, it was a still night.   
“Yes, that would be me,” you confirmed, trying to sound affable.   
“I help out with room and board around here. Negan told me you need a place for the next six nights, so please follow me,” she meekly requested.   
This girl seemed like she could scare easily, so you quietly trailed behind her, not wanting to stir the pot with unnecessary conversation. You headed inside a building next to the hospital and followed her down a long hallway until you stopped at a grey door.   
“Is this it?” you inquired. She nodded and you turned the doorknob.   
Inside was a twin bed with a grey comforter and some white sheets, and next to the bed was a tiny brown shelf with a lamp on it. On the other side of the room was a wooden rocking chair, your swords resting on the seat like some sort of housewarming gift.   
The teenage girl stood in the doorway. “The bathroom is four doors down and to your right if you need it. I hope you enjoy your stay.”   
As she turned to leave you called after her, “Wait! What’s your name?”  
She jumped up a little in alarm, but chose to answer your question: “Margery,” she said.   
“Well Margery, I really appreciate you showing me to my room.”   
She looked down at the floor and nodded.   
“By the way,” you blurted out. Your instinct was to give her a compliment, thinking maybe it would boost her confidence, but you hadn’t yet thought of what to say. You went for the first thing you noticed about her. “…You have really pretty hair.”   
You felt kind of awkward but noticed that Margery cracked a small smile. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Thanks,” and then scurried back down the hall and disappeared around a corner.   
Feeling accomplished, you strutted into your new room and shut the door to change into a tank top and pants you had brought along as sleepwear. You hopped into your bed, hoping to fall asleep quickly.   
Although you were exhausted from a long day, you couldn’t drift off no matter how hard you tried. You stared at the ceiling, perplexed by what was making you feel so unsettled, and that’s when it hit you. Suddenly sitting up, you eyes went straight to the door and you realized: there was no lock. You remained that way for a few agonizingly long moments, staring down the door, daring it to fly open, but it felt like a losing battle. Your palms began to sweat and your breath quickened, as you were on the verge of a panic attack. Too stubborn to actually let that happen, you decided to leave the building to just get some air for a couple of minutes. 

Considering the time of year, it was a bit chilly out for the way you were dressed, but the cold was drying up your anxiety-induced sweat at a rapid pace, so you didn’t mind it too much. You wondered how you would be able to go to sleep after this. Hugging your body, you started pacing in small circles, feeling frustrated. Even now, miles away from Alexandria, he was still able to get to you. Not physically maybe, but he was buried in your subconscious, constantly tormenting your mind. You just had to keep reminding yourself that you were okay here…that it didn’t matter if your door was locked or not because you were far from where he was.   
“You’re safe,” you repeated to yourself over and over, “You’re safe.”   
All of a sudden you heard footsteps behind you, and without thinking you stretched your arm out in a striking motion, intending to hit whoever it was square in the jaw. “WHOA!” the stranger screamed, and you realized it was none other than Negan himself.   
He raised both of his hands up in time to block your arm, but the impact sent him stumbling a couple of steps back. As he regained his balance he said, “Well fuck…I thought there was a possibility you wanted to get physical with me, I just didn’t think _that’s_ what you had in mind.”   
You drew a hand to your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry. You just startled me for a second there.”   
“Heh,” Negan scoffed. “Way I see it, something was already startling you before I showed up.”   
You raised an eyebrow at him. “Were you watching me or something?”   
“Only long enough to see you pacing back and forth and whispering to yourself like you got some fucking voices in your head,” he admitted. “Everything okay upstairs?” he added, pointing to his own head. “Or do you got some weird Silence of the Lambs type of shit going on that I’m not aware of?”   
You laughed at his pop culture reference. Nobody really talked about movies anymore, considering you were living in the worst horror film come to life.   
“It’s nothing like that,” you reassured him. “Actually, it’s pretty stupid.”   
Negan took a step closer to you. “Darling, I’m trained to deal with ‘stupid’ on a daily basis. Fuckin’ try me.”   
You broke eye contact with him and focused on your foot, kicking up some loose dirt on the ground. “I just—the door to my room doesn’t have a lock on it…that’s all. It’s hard for me to sleep knowing it’s unlocked.”   
Negan shook his head a few times like he understood exactly what you were saying. “Well that’s a perfectly fucking rational fear. You’re just worried about what would happen if the roamers came knocking?”   
You shrugged. “Pretty much.”   
“To be honest, I was expecting a much more fucking interesting explanation,” His voice contained a hint of disappointment.   
You decided to keep quiet. For whatever reason, Negan was good at reading you, so even if you came up with the perfect reply, your tone of voice could still raise suspicion that there was, indeed, more to your story.   
“How about you make it up to me with a quick stroll around the complex?” he offered.   
The invitation seemed completely out of the blue, but you were still too worked up to go back to bed, so you agreed. “Alright,” you said, “What harm could it do?”   
You walked side by side in the darkness. Negan seemed fine not talking if you didn’t want to, but you feared that the longer the silence lingered, the greater the chance that he would start asking you more questions about your past. You decided it was time to turn the tables and find out more about him instead.   
“So…” you began, “Where’s your bat?”   
“Lucille’s a bit fucked up after all the action she’s seen. I gave her over to one of my men so she could be cleaned and ready for a brand new fucking day tomorrow,” he explained.   
As he spoke, you rubbed your arms and shivered. The cool temperature outside was starting to affect you.   
Negan noticed that you were uncomfortable. “Ahh, fuck,” he huffed. “You could’ve just told me you were too cold for this shit if that was the case.”   
In one swift motion, he unzipped his leather jacket, took it off, and draped it across your shoulders.   
“Thanks,” you said, wrapping it closer to your body. “I hope you don’t think this means we’re going steady or something.”   
Negan smirked. “Believe me, if I wanted that right now, I wouldn’t be putting more fucking clothes _on_ you.”   
“Glad we’re on the same page,” you smiled. “So back to your bat—I mean, ‘Lucille.’ You talk about it like it’s an actual person. Is it named after somebody?”   
Negan looked up towards the night sky, taking a few seconds to respond. “Tell ya what,” he finally said. “You give me the _real_ fucking reason you can’t sleep with an unlocked door, and maybe I’ll tell you the history of Lucille.”  
Shit. So you hadn’t fooled him after all. You tried to keep the mood playful and placed your hand on your hip.   
“So let me get this straight. I tell you a long-ass anecdote about the history of _my_ weapons, and now you want another story on top of that? And even after I tell it, there’s a possibility that you _still_ won’t share yours?”   
“Well when you put it that way, which is why I _didn’t_ , it sounds pretty fucking unfair. But yep, that’s the deal on the table,” he proposed.   
“I’d just be getting the raw end of it,” you stated dryly. “Doesn’t put me in such a story-telling mood.”  
Negan raised his shoulders. “Suit yourself.”   
Since neither of you were willing to get more personal, the rest of the walk consisted of Negan giving you a brief tour of some of the Sanctuary facilities you hadn’t seen yet. At one point you passed a single level, beige building that looked fairly well kept. There were even some colorful flowers along the windowsills. “What’s in there?” you asked, hoping he’d take you inside.   
“Oh that’s nothing. A few of the elder women of this community live in there. Like to keep to themselves. We respect their privacy so long as they keep contributing to the community,” Negan explained.   
“In other words, they’ll try to cut my fucking head off if I knock on their door,” you concluded.  
“Don’t know if they’re the best fucking fighters…but I wouldn’t test it if I were you.” You noticed that Negan said this sternly, like he was legitimately concerned for your safety.   
“Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” you replied, and kept on walking.   
After another ten minutes, even with Negan’s jacket on, the cold was becoming too much to bear, so you returned to the dormitories.   
You handed Negan his coat back. “Well, thanks for showing me the lay of the land. It was oddly peaceful.”  
“Likewise,” he agreed, and then added with a mischievous grin: “You know, if we _were_ going steady, I might even walk you all the fucking way to your door and kiss you goodnight.”   
You rolled your eyes. “Yet another reason I’d like a lock on it.” Before turning to go inside you added, “See you tomorrow, Negan.”   
His mouth fell to a smaller smile. “Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t let the biters bite.”   
When you got back to your room, your head hit the pillow for the second time that night. Only _this_ time, you had no problem falling right to sleep.


	4. No Mercy, No Pity

Your own body clock forced you to wake up bright and early at 7am. As an honorary guest at the Sanctuary, you wanted to prove your value to these people, and that wouldn’t happen if you were sleeping on the job. After freshening up in the bathroom, slipping on your normal clothes, and tidying your hair in a neat French braid, you were ready to go. Before heading out the door, you thought for a minute about bringing your swords, but in the end decided against it. Thinking about frail little Margery from last night, you didn’t want to appear threatening to anybody at the moment. Negan pretty much had that part taken care of anyway. 

You heard Daniel before you saw him. “Let’s go boys! First on your feet, then you get to eat!” You looked off in the direction of the commanding voice and there he was with his unmistakable clipboard and pencil tucked behind his ear. Once you had greeted each other good morning, you started in with your questions.   
“Daniel…what is everyone unloading? I thought we took care of the Alexandria crates yesterday.”   
As Daniel silently signaled to various men regarding movement of supplies, he spoke to you. “We actually got a massive delivery from Hilltop at dawn. Their crops have been flourishing lately, so our half of the share is larger than usual. Don’t think we’ll be going hungry any time soon!”   
You furrowed your brow. “Since my arrival here, that has definitely not been a concern of mine.”   
Daniel watched as you eyed the dozens of boxes of food with disapproval. “So what _is_ troubling you then?”   
Folding your arms, you explained, “It’s just a lot of fucking food to take away from one community, that’s all.”   
Daniel smirked. “I promise you we are not freeloading here. Don’t forget, whatever amount of food you see, Hilltop got to hold on to a share the same exact size. And they receive services from the Saviors in return. This is the deal they made with us—with Negan. Once you make a deal with Negan, you don’t back out.”   
You nodded your head as you listened to Daniel’s spiel. “He runs a tight ship both inside _and_ outside his community, doesn’t he?”   
“Believe me Y/N, it’s harder on the inside. You think all these guys hauling ass right now are doing it for the glory? They have to _earn_ the things they carry…everyone does.”   
You studied the dutiful men vigorously unloading and organizing the supplies. “I see…tell me Daniel. I’m not technically a member of the Sanctuary, so what exactly am I earning for all of _my_ hard work?”   
It was more of a joke then a serious question, but before Daniel could answer you, Negan stormed onto the scene in a fit of rage. His voice boomed over the murmurs of a few frightened Saviors.   
“Where the fuck is Bill?” he snarled.   
A couple of men went into one of the open trucks and pulled Bill out, throwing him to the ground in the process. Negan stood tall over the trembling man and held tightly to Lucille as Bill began to plead.   
“Listen boss,” he started, but Negan interrupted him.   
“Don’t you fucking _dare_ tell me what to do. In fact, you’re about to do something for _me_.”   
To your surprise, he set Lucille aside and pulled out a small switchblade. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t gut you right now. Why I shouldn’t make you fucking _return_ the extra rations you just stole by spilling them all outta you right where you’re kneeling?”   
You turned to Daniel and whispered, “So _that’s_ what this is all about? He swiped some food off of one of the trucks?”   
This was the same Bill who had swiped your swords right off of _you_ the day prior, and although you still thought he was an asshole, Negan’s reaction to his crime seemed a bit drastic.   
“You really weren’t listening to a word I just said, were you?” Daniel snapped back, and then shifted his eyes over to Negan, urging you to keep watching the spectacle.   
Just as you did, Negan took his blade and slashed it across Bill’s face in a quick motion. Blood began to trickle down the thief’s cheek.   
“TELL ME!” he screamed. “Why the fuck should you live?”   
Bill whimpered, “Please boss! I’m sorry for taking what wasn’t mine. I’ll do anything…I—I’ll work for no points! For as long as it takes to make up the stolen food and then some. I’m begging you sir: don’t kill me. I’ll work for free!”   
Bill was starting to tear up now. You knew turning on the waterworks wasn’t enough to convince Negan of anything, but you saw a slow smile beginning to creep across his mouth.   
“Very well,” he said. “You work for free until I fuckin’ say otherwise. Fair warning Bill: that might not be for a long, long time.”   
Bill sat up a little straighter, clasping his hands together like his prayers had been answered. “Oh thank you boss. Thank you for your mercy.”   
At these words Negan leaned closer to Bill and narrowed his eyes. “It’s not about mercy, motherfucker, it’s about _value_.”   
He stood back up and addressed the crowd surrounding him. “Let this be a lesson to you all. If I haven’t already made it Goddamn clear: there. Are. _Rules_. You earn what you take. You don’t have enough fuckin’ points for something, you don’t fuckin’ take it! You look at this asshole’s face if you ever need a fucking reminder of that.”   
He grabbed Bill by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. “ _That’s_ why I let you live, you worthless shithead. Now get the fuck back to work.”   
Shoving Bill toward the trucks, Negan watched until he scampered away. While the circle of bystanders dispersed, he made his way over to you, and your heart began pounding from a mix of fear and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Whatever he was making you feel, you didn’t like it, and immediately you went into defense mode.   
“Starting the day off on the right side of things, I see,” you commented sarcastically, crossing your arms at him.   
“You fuckin’ bet I am,” he shot back.   
You looked straight into his eyes, standing your ground. “Yeah, well, that just seemed kind of unwarranted to me.”   
Daniel stood silent with his eyes downcast, clearly uninterested in interfering. Negan put his hand over his heart at your statement. “Oh, so sorry to have fucking offended you! I better go check Bill’s blood-smeared face to see if I can find your stamp of approval there.”   
You glared at him as he continued. “I don’t know how Saint fuckin’ Rick does it in Alexandria, but here at the Sanctuary we have a points system, okay? We have fucking _order_. When you live here, you _earn_ your place.”   
He was raw with anger, and even though you felt the same way, your face only displayed disappointment.   
“Well then, thank God I don’t,” you retaliated before turning away. 

* * * *

“Fuck him and his points,” you mumbled under your breath as you walked around the Sanctuary. You had planned on getting right to work, but after that distasteful display, you weren’t in a contributing mood. Instead, you settled for a morning stroll to clear your head, find some breakfast, and get as far away from Negan as possible for the time being.   
Passing by your dormitory, you noticed Margery was outside carrying a couple of baskets of laundry—one on each hip. You worried her small frame couldn’t support the heavy load, and sure enough one basket slipped from her side and fell, which resulted in clothes spilling everywhere. As she set down the other basket, you ran over to her to help clean up the mess.   
Margery shot you a weak smile, barely making eye contact with you for more than a millisecond. While grabbing different washed materials off the floor, you spotted an extra large pair of men’s briefs and held them up.   
“I hope you know, I’m only helping you for purely selfish reasons. I just didn’t want my personal items lying around here for everyone to see.”   
You were delighted when Margery looked up at the undergarment and laughed, sparing you from the utter humiliation you would have felt had the joke crashed and burned.   
But when she continued giggling some more, you added, “Alright, I think you might be overselling it a little bit there. If I’m not funny, I promise I won’t be insulted when you don’t laugh.”   
Margery drew a hand to her mouth and said in between snickers of amusement, “You have really pretty hair.”   
You put your hands on your hips and squinted at her, pretending to be annoyed. “Okay, now you’re just mocking me.”   
After one last chuckle Margery blurted out, “No no no! I really mean it! I know you said that to me last night just to be nice, but my hair’s so unruly. Could you show me how to get it like that?” She pointed to your French braid.   
“Of course,” you answered immediately. For one reason or another this seemingly timid girl had opened up to you, and you weren’t about to shut her down. 

“It looks great!” Margery exclaimed as she admired her new hairstyle in a handheld mirror. You were sitting together outside and enjoying the fresh air. Margery had gotten some cereal and coffee for the two of you to eat for breakfast, and you were in the middle of chowing down.   
“Thanks so much for showing me how to do this. Finally I can tame this frizzy mess!” You waved it off like it was no big deal. “Not a problem, Marg. Look, any time you need a favor, feel free to come to me. I can’t promise I’ll be there every time you have a klutzy moment though.”   
Margery sighed. “Those tend to happen to me every now and then.”   
You gave her a knowing glance. “I hear you. I’m not very graceful either.”   
She looked down at her shoes. “Well at least you got two feet to stand on.”   
Your posture straightened as your curiosity piqued. “What’s that supposed to mean?”   
With careful energy, Margery grabbed the hem of her cargo pants and lifted them up to her knee, revealing what appeared to be a prosthetic leg.   
Your eyes widened and you instantly tried to hide your shock, thinking that she probably got that sort of reaction often. You wanted to know so much but you didn’t know what to ask first.   
“Was this after…?” you began, and Margery cut you off.   
“Oh no, before, before. Car accident. I was twelve.”   
You locked eyes with her. “I’m sorry,” was all you could say. You figured Carla’s advice didn’t apply because this was technically a pre-apocalypse event.   
“It’s okay…don’t be,” she reassured you. “Everyone here at the Sanctuary knows about it, and I almost wish they didn’t. The moment they found out, they all treated me differently. Like I’m fragile. Like I can’t handle doing some work once in a while.” Nodding your head, you felt like you were starting to understand. “That’s why you’re so quiet, isn’t it? You just wanna blend in.”   
Margery stared past you for a moment with a grim expression. You had a feeling there was more to her story, but you didn’t want to press the issue just yet. After those few seconds of stillness passed, she replied, “Yeah, pretty much. I just want to contribute.”   
You shot her a warm smile. “Well, don’t try to blend in too much, or nobody’s ever gonna know about your awesome personality.”   
Margery’s own smile reflected yours. “That’s why I liked you. Right away you were friendly. You were kind. And I stood out to you, but this time it wasn’t for the wrong reasons.”   
You placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you gave me a chance.”   
After taking a huge gulp of coffee Margery went on to explain, “We don’t get newcomers around here often. It was refreshing to interact with somebody who didn’t pity me right away. That’s why I put up with your lame jokes.”   
She grinned as you took a dry grain of cereal and chucked it at her. As the two of you laughed out loud, you looked off to the left of Margery to see Negan studying you from a distance.   
It irked you that he just stood there blatantly watching, not even trying to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping. You decided to do your best to ignore him and kept on talking to Margery, blurring him out of your peripheral vision until he vanished completely. 

* * * *

It was mid-afternoon as you found yourself hanging clothing outside on a line, since you had promised Margery you’d help her pick up the slack on the laundry after your leisurely bonding session took up most of her morning. Suddenly, you heard some rustling behind one of the large white sheets dangling in front of you, and looked up in time to see Lucille poke out from underneath it, slowly raising it up and revealing a smiling Negan.   
“I really don’t want any fuckin’ sheets between us darling,” was all he had to say. You rolled your eyes, fed up with him already.   
“Look Negan, the sexual innuendo shit is not going to work this time around.”   
You noticed the way he nodded his head, the wry grin still plastered on his face. Even when accepting defeat, he managed to look smug.   
“Didn’t come here for that anyway,” he disclosed. “Just wanted to say I noticed you and Margery were spending some quality time together this morning.”   
You shrugged. “Yeah…and I _noticed_ that you noticed. So what? You gonna mark my face too? For distracting one of your workers or something?”   
To your surprise, Negan actually laughed. “Fuck no! Quite the opposite actually. I wanted to thank you.”   
Taken aback, you set down the article of clothing you were about to hang up. “Thank me? For what?”   
Negan stepped closer, like he possessed some sort of confidential information. “I don’t tell these kinds of things to many people, but I’ve always had a fuckin’ soft spot for that girl. Mute as hell, doesn’t want anyone feeling fucking sorry for her. Nobody could get a word out of her until you came along.”   
You felt the coldness inside of you begin to thaw. Looks like he did have a heart after all. You took his gratitude as an opportunity to find out more about Margery.   
“Why doesn’t she speak?” you asked.   
“Well,” Negan elaborated, “She went through something real fucking traumatic.”   
You sighed. Maybe you were wrong and that _was_ the entire story after all. But the haunted look you remembered seeing in Margery’s eyes urged you to keep on questioning.   
“That accident happened way before the apocalypse. You telling me she wasn’t speaking even when you first found her?”   
Negan shook his head. “I’m not talking about her prosthetic leg. It was a different kind of trauma. The kind I absolutely fucking _deplore_.”   
You watched his face change from pale to a deep red as he continued. “Someone tried to rape her.”   
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the word, and you felt your pulse quicken instantly. “What…what did you do about it?” Your voice that was shaky at best.   
“Fucker trying to take advantage of a quiet girl with a disability? I beat him to a pulp and enjoyed every second of it. Lucille has zero tolerance for sexual violence.”   
You eyed Lucille, and for the first time, you felt grateful for the bizarre weapon’s existence.   
“Anyway,” Negan said, “that dick had a few buddies around here who weren’t at the scene of the crime, but I still keep my eye on them…one of ‘em being Bill. I know you weren’t too gun-fuckin’ ho about the way things went down this morning, but maybe now you see why I gotta keep order around here. Why I gotta keep some people _afraid_.”   
You thought about the way Daryl kept tabs on Carson back at home to make sure the doctor-in-training stayed far, far away from you, and also how Daryl regularly reminded him that the only reason he was still breathing was because of his medical knowledge. You loved Daryl for that, and what Negan was doing here at the Sanctuary wasn’t entirely different.   
You looked at him with reassurance. “I do understand. Perfectly.”   
Now it made sense why Margery’s demeanor had resonated so deeply with you this morning.   
“I’m glad,” Negan declared. “Last thing I wanted was for you to return to Alexandria thinking I just lash out punishments to my men for fun. Lucille takes her job very fucking seriously, as do I.”   
The anxiousness within you had been quelled, but upon hearing Negan’s words, you felt another jittery sensation take its place.   
“Well, you definitely strike me as the serious type,” you half-joked.   
Negan rubbed one hand over the scruff on his jawline. “How about tonight we actually _do_ have a little fucking fun though? Wanna join me and a few guys at Daniel’s place later on to play some poker?”  
You were excited about the offer, but one thing held you back. “That sounds great…but I don’t know how to play.”   
Negan raised his shoulders. “Doesn’t fucking matter. Hell, we’ll teach you. So what do you say?”   
You stood proudly in front of him. “In that case, I say, get ready to lose.” 

Later that night, you experienced what could only be called a poker massacre against the Saviors. Learning the rules didn’t change the fact that you were new to the game while they had been playing for a very long time. Against them you didn’t stand a chance, but luckily you lost very little, since you didn’t have a lot to bet with in the first place. Daniel clutched tightly to the pair of earrings he had won from you, and a couple of the Saviors were teasing him for it.   
“The fuck are you gonna do with those, Dan? Stab a few biters with the pointy ends?” one guy named Rory snickered.   
“Even with these as my only means of defense, I’d still be a better fighter than you, you snide son of a bitch,” Daniel fired back, but it was all in jest.   
You chuckled at their banter, enjoying the lightness of the atmosphere. Negan too, seemed so much more relaxed, cracking jokes and popping open a beer. At one point the two of you had even shared a toast with your drinks.   
“To surprises,” he had stated as you raised your bottle to his.   
Although you were unsure what he meant by that, you echoed back, “To surprises.” At the end of the night, Negan walked you over to the dormitories. Most of the way he made fun of your poor card gaming skills.   
“Finally,” he said, “Something you fuckin’ suck at!”   
You nudged him in the ribs with your elbow. “Never said I was perfect, but I’m damn near close.”   
Negan grinned wryly. “And you think _I’m_ the fucking narcissistic one?”   
As you approached the door you realized you weren’t anywhere near tired, and you didn’t want the night to end just yet. Without really thinking you blurted out, “Wanna come inside for a minute?”   
Negan seemed more amused than enthusiastic. “Well…looks like your timing kind of sucks too, because while yesterday I’d have gladly taken you up on that invitation, this evening I most _definitely_ cannot. I hope you can get some rest tonight, Y/N. See you tomorrow.”   
For a second you stood there dumbfounded. “See ya,” was all you could manage to squeak out before running through the entrance and down the hall to your room. Along the way you cursed at yourself, angry for allowing some vulnerability to show, angrier still for missing out on your only chance the night before.   
Some how you had misread the signs, and whatever interest Negan showed in you before was clearly gone now. Then again maybe this was a good thing; a complication avoided; a bullet dodged; a lapse in judgment that you didn’t have to regret the following day.   
All these thoughts rattled your mind as you opened your door and stepped inside. Reaching for the doorknob, the traffic in your brain came to a screeching halt as you looked down and saw a newly installed lock right above the handle.   
Your mouth dropped open as you continued to hold onto the knob. You were only here for a few more nights, and Negan had the lock put in place anyway, just so you could get some sleep.   
A small smile gradually became a huge grin as you realized why he had really turned you down. “So _this_ was the surprise,” you whispered with astonishment. And he didn’t want to ruin it by being there. He must’ve wanted you to find it on your own.   
Reflecting on the boyish innocence of the plan, so unlike Negan in every way, had you beaming just as much as the gift itself did.   
As you crawled into bed, it dawned on you that just as you had started to doubt him, Negan turned everything around again. You thought about how he had beaten to death the sick shit who tried to abuse Margery, and entertained the idea of Carson suffering a similar fate.   
You loved how protective he was of Marg, and how safe, in turn, he made you feel as well. Lastly, you thought about how much you truly enjoyed his company tonight. Between all of these thoughts, you felt yourself drift off towards another peaceful sleep. For your second night at the Sanctuary, rest came easy, just as Negan had hoped it would for you.


	5. The Last Night

Tomorrow you were going back. It was the evening of your sixth night at the Sanctuary, and Negan was hosting a farewell party for you. Despite those few groups of Saviors who still eyed you with disdain, most of the people here had befriended you one way or another and were sad to see you go. They didn’t expect for you to become so attached to their community in less than a week, and neither did you.   
In a way though, you were excited to return to Alexandria, just so you could put a stop to Rick’s plans to go to war with Negan. There were good people here—more good than bad—and you were going to make him see that. And even though Rick would probably counter that Negan taking half of their supplies was still a problem you couldn’t ignore, you felt you now had enough pull with Negan to convince him to sweeten the deal.   
Feeling confident that true peace was on the horizon, you headed over to the large house where the party was happening, in a celebratory mood. As you approached the residence, you heard some old school rock music blasting through the windows, where you could see shining light and hear the echoing of laughter. You were wearing a nice blue dress that you had borrowed from Margery, your hair was done up, and you even had on a little makeup.   
Butterflies fluttered your stomach as the entrance drew closer, and you relished in the normalcy of it all. The nervousness you felt being all dolled up for a party—never did you imagine life could be like this again. You wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could.   
“No more fighting,” you said to yourself as you stood on the porch and swung the door open. You were greeted by a few cheers here and there, people hollering your name and raising their glasses before returning to their own conversations.   
You smiled and made your way through the masses, looking for your closest friends. Suddenly someone tapped you on the shoulder, and you turned around to see Carla, holding two beers. She shoved one in your direction.   
“Thought you could use a drink!” she said over the noise.   
Taking the beer from her hand, you gave her a friendly hug hello. “Glad you came out tonight Carla!”   
She smirked. “Don’t think I came to socialize with everyone. Just wanted to check up on my handiwork.”   
You held your right hand up to her. For the most part, it was healed, and the stitches had held in place. “Good as new, thanks to you!”   
At that, you tapped your beverages together took a swig. Lowering your bottle back down, you looked ahead and noticed Negan in a corner surrounded by a group of Saviors.   
You hated to admit it, but he looked good. His hair was combed back, and he had on dark jeans and a black button down shirt.   
“Didn’t think he owned anything but leather,” you said out loud.   
Realizing Carla was listening, you bit your lip and looked down at the floor, embarrassed. She turned around to check him out and then raised an eyebrow at you, smiling knowingly. “So you _did_ notice him standin’ there then?” she asked in her long, Southern drawl.   
You tried to explain. “No, I just—   
“Honey it’s alright,” she interjected. “I knew you had it bad for him the first day you set foot in my office and started defendin’ him straight away. Wasn’t insulted though. Took no offense to it then and I don’t mind it now. You’re a good girl with good head on your shoulders, and you’re makin’ the right decision.”   
Gazing over at Negan, you had only been half-listening to Carla until that last remark, which didn’t sit right with you. “What do mean by ‘right decision?’”   
Now Carla looked at you like _she_ was the one who was confused. “To be a wife,” she stated matter-of-factly.   
You shook your head, still not understanding. “ _Who’s_ wife?” you pressed further. “Why, _Negan’s_ of course!” she replied, equally baffled.   
You stared at her blankly, until it finally clicked that she was just pushing your buttons. Bursting into laughter, you patted your friend on the back. “Oh, Carla! You’re freaking hilarious! Why is it again that you don’t get out more?” you inquired.  
Perplexed, Carla stuttered a reply. “Well, I…uh…” and was unable to finish her sentence as you hugged her once more.   
“I gotta go find Margery and thank her for this dress,” you explained, still chuckling. “But I’ll see you around alright?”   
Watching you disappear into the crowd, Carla chugged the remainder of her beer. “I’m gonna need more alcohol than _this_ to get me through the night,” she noted, and headed off to retrieve another one. 

About an hour into the festivities, you still hadn’t spoken to Negan. He caught your eye a few times and smiled over at you, but both of you kept being hassled by different people. Additionally, you had stopped to talk to Margery as you intended; expressing gratitude that she had found you something suitable to wear. You were delighted to see that she was putting herself out there, and even happier that her hair was done up in a neat French braid. You also spent a significant amount of time talking to Daniel, who was still making fun of your lackluster poker skills.   
“Haven’t figure out yet what to do with my earrings, huh?” you teased.   
“Well if I can’t use them, they’ll make an excellent bartering tool. Some woman comes along wanting to take them, she’ll have to give me something in return.”   
You eyes widened with amusement. “Daniel! Didn’t know you still had it in you!”   
At your comment Daniel cursed in what you could only suspect was Japanese. “Christ, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that! No…at my age I’m not as interested in those kinds of needs now. But _you_ are, aren’t you?”   
Negan had stepped into your line of sight yet again, and Daniel saw the way you were staring over at him.   
“Hmm?” you asked dreamily, and suddenly what Daniel had said registered with you. “Oh God, I’m really making it obvious tonight, aren’t I?”   
He laughed. “Well, to everyone but _him_ you are. I’ve been watching you here and there during this party…you haven’t talked to him once. Why don’t you go over to him?”   
You shook your head. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you?’ ‘Goodbye?’ Things have been…complicated between us. Plus Dwight, Bill, and a few of their goonies have been watching me most of the night. And every time they see me with Negan they give me the stink eye. Sucking up to him right in front of them will just piss ‘em off even more.”   
You were fishing for excuses. The truth was that you knew what you wanted from Negan, and tonight was your last real chance to get it until God knew when. However, the thought of going through with it terrified you. Could you trust him enough not to take advantage of you? And could you allow yourself to just get lost in the moment with him, thereby letting down all of your defenses? You didn’t know if it was possible anymore after what had happened to you.   
In your mind you swore at the man who had taken your pleasure away from one of the last satisfying human acts left on Earth, leaving you to only remember the pain. It had gotten to the point where you believed you wouldn’t even _desire_ it anymore, and the thought of trying again had not excited you, but rather scared you to death.   
Your chest tightened as Daniel rolled his eyes at your ramblings and pushed you in the direction of the party’s gracious host. To pursue Negan was to go against all of your basic instincts…or so you thought. Maybe it was the other way around, and your basic instincts were finally forcing you to let go of that one horrific nightmare from your past.   
Negan saw you approaching and shot you a mischievous smile, and the growing tightness crept up to your throat and down into your stomach.   
Feeling the onset of another anxiety attack, you came to the realization that what you wanted was impossible for you to actually get. Suddenly, the only thing you desired was to be as far away as possible from all these bodies crowded into one space, so you spun on your heels and headed outside through the rear of the house.   
The back door led to a moderate-sized balcony, and you collapsed onto an outdoor couch off to the side. The balcony was facing westward, overlooking the sunset. You exhaled softly as you took in the view. Just as you had started regaining composure, you heard the glass door behind you slide back open.   
Without even turning around, you knew who it was. You waited for him to speak first, since he usually liked to do that. Much to your astonishment, he merely stepped forward and took the open seat next to you on the sofa, his eyes also focused on the setting sun.   
How? How did he know that you had just come out here for some peace and clarity? That you weren’t in the mood for more witty banter? Of _all_ people, here was Negan, usually so hell bent on being the center of attention; of rocking the boat, sitting in utter silence just so you could decompress. Some how he seemed to know what you needed, and it made you want him even more.   
Unexpectedly, to the both of you, tears brimmed in your eyes until one escaped and slid down your cheek. At this, Negan had to speak up. “Fuck…I know it’s an emotional time for everyone, what with it being your last night as our guest of honor, but is that really the reason why you’re fuckin’ crying?”   
Tired of holding everything back, you blurted out, “I want to have sex with you.” Perhaps it wasn’t the most normal thing to reveal, but try as you might, you couldn’t pretend that _these_ were normal circumstances.   
Even Negan, for a moment, was left speechless by your candor. “Damn,” he started, chuckling a bit, “That just seems like another fuckin’ reason to _celebrate_ if you ask me!”   
He studied your face as more tears fell from your eyes, and gradually his grin collapsed, his face contorting into a mixture of shame and disgust that seemed to be directed inwards. “Oh shit…I hope I didn’t give you the impression that you had some sort of… _obligation_ to me, for lack of a better word. I mean, I _would_ , but only if you _chose_ to be with me.”   
You gazed at him with an equal amount of longing and sadness. “You never gave me that impression. I meant what I said…I just can’t follow through with it. It has nothing to do with you. Things are just…difficult for me.”   
As you stumbled through your explanation, Negan wiped a tear from your face. “Look, I don’t know what you’re going through,” he began, “but don’t do this just to get it out of your system. Don’t do _any_ thing until you’re ready—until you’re fuckin’ _comfortable_ with it. You know I’ll never force you into something. That’s a promise I made Rick when I first brought you here: you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”   
Once he stopped speaking, you noticed that he had been gently rubbing your upper back. You shifted forward so his hand fell away. “You may be an asshole sometimes,” you said with some humor, “but it’s hard to ignore that you’re also a man of your word.”   
Negan smiled wide. “Fuck yeah I am! But enough about me. Why don’t you tell me another story while we’re out here? Figured we could end this experience the same way it fuckin’ started.”   
Once again, you aimed to turn the tables. “Well, what about you?” you sniffled. “You still never told me about Lucille. What happened with her?”   
Negan shifted his gaze away from you and back toward the golden sky. “Heh. I only got a few more hours with you, and that story is too damn long to tell in one night. Let’s just say, for now, that Lucille is the foundation for everything I built here.”   
You thought it was odd that he could draw such deep inspiration from a simple baseball bat, but your track of thought was altered when you connected what he just said to a detail you recalled from your past.   
“Remember the man who was the inspiration for the butterfly swords in my story? Do you know what his name means? …‘Jianyu?’”   
For Negan, the question came completely out of left field. “Do I look like I speak fuckin’ Cantonese?” he sarcastically chimed.   
You smirked. “It’s Mandarin actually, but I digress. His name has been a pillar in my new life; I guess the way Lucille has been for you. It means ‘building the universe.’” You waited for him to be awestruck, but he simply tilted his head to one side. “What? No reaction? You think it’s just a coincidence? Because all we’ve been trying to _do_ is build the universe. Build it back up since it all fell to ruins!”   
You stared at him, baffled that he wasn’t getting it. On top of that, he started cackling with laughter.   
“Aww fuck, I walked in on some serious philosophical shit, didn’t I? You were definitely puffing the fuckin’ magic dragon before I got out here, weren’t you?”   
You wanted to be mad, but instead you found yourself laughing right along with him at the absurdity of it all.   
Finally you had been offered one night of freedom from the usual hell you lived in, and here you were wasting it; using the time to unpack all of your emotional baggage, sobbing while a fucking _party_ was happening right behind your back. Negan took your hand as he saw your demeanor change.   
“You know,” he said, “You’re a really fucking interesting person. A tough exterior, but you got some fuckin’ layers to you.”   
You chuckled as he continued. “And on top of that you’re a Goddamn diplomat. A true people pleaser…you get along with almost fuckin’ everybody.” He paused. “And yet, for all the relationships you form, you still seem like you’re fuckin’ lonely. Now how the hell can that be?”   
You blushed and looked down at your lap. “I don’t _want_ to be. I don’t have rules established the same way as you do here, but ‘building the universe’ has been my M.O for some time now. I’ve been so focused on it, that I think I’ve forgotten how to take care of myself once in a while,” you admitted.   
By now the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the sky overhead swirled together with pinks and purples, oranges and blues. Using his free hand, Negan slowly lifted your chin up so you were looking directly into each other’s eyes.   
“Fuck the universe for once. Build something for yourself,” he said, and leaned in to kiss you.   
As his lips brushed against yours, all the defenses you had fortified around yourself began crumbling away. Every second was a surprise. Where you expected him to be rough, he was carefully tender. And where you expected him to assert his dominance, he pulled back and let you take charge.   
As he held you by your waist, you ran your fingers through his hair, tracing them over the stubble of his beard. Slowly you let the passion build, and a vaguely familiar sensation consumed your body. You had barely recognized the feeling of lust, but instead of shying away from it, this time you welcomed it with open arms.   
Now you moved so that you were completely pressed up against him, your hands on his chest and his arms wrapped around your torso to keep you close. You didn’t want any space to distance his body from yours, and you sighed deeply as he broke away from your lips to kiss the side of your face down to the nape of your neck.   
You smiled as he continued to kiss every part of you, not possessively, but gradually and gently. You couldn’t believe how afraid you had been, since this was the safest you had felt in a long, long time.   
Being in his arms, you knew that you would never let yourself be that afraid again. Something you had feared more than death itself had just transformed into something indescribably amazing. You had never felt freer than in this moment, and you didn’t want to let it go.   
But just as you craved more, Negan pulled back. With his face still inches from yours he whispered, “We should continue this back at my place.”   
Even at a low volume, you could hear the desire hanging on his every word. With a whimper you asked, “But why?”   
Negan glanced over his shoulder. “Well for starters, we got a fuckin’ glass door behind us, and already a few peeping Tom fucking perverts looking this way.”   
He grinned as you pressed your forehead against his and laughed. His hands now rested on your knees and your hands were on top of his.   
The two of you stayed frozen like this for a second, basking in the barriers that had just been broken, yearning for what the night still had to offer. Now it was your turn to break away from him.   
You nodded as you whispered back to Negan, “Okay…let’s go.” 

The walk over to Negan’s house was only a couple of minutes, and you held onto each other the whole way there. His quarters were more modest-looking than you’d expected as the leader of the Saviors, but it didn’t really matter. You didn’t care what the place looked like so long as it provided a spot where the two of you could be alone.   
Leading you into his bedroom, he closed the door as your heart palpitated. You liked that it was beating out of excitement rather than sheer panic, only the beating nearly stopped when he turned around, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world.   
In the dim light of his room, he took your hands in his once more and said in a hushed voice, “Listen, I don’t want you to think this is just another night in the sack for me. Something about this feels fucking different, and it’s fuckin’ killing me that I don’t even know how to describe it.”   
Glassy tears of relief collected in your eyes. After the trauma you endured, you truly believed all men only craved one thing, and yet here was Negan, refusing to fit into the mold you had sculpted for him way back when you first met.   
You had clung to your preconceived notions of men, thinking you needed those beliefs in order to survive, but in doing so you had kept yourself from really living again. Here was an opportunity to resurrect a part of yourself that you had consistently tried to bury.   
You looked at Negan with equal adoration. “Believe me, this is different for me too,” you professed, “but I’m willing to take a fucking chance.”   
After pressing your lips to his for another short kiss, you asked, “Now where were we?”   
With a devilish grin, Negan pushed you up against his bedroom wall. You felt his warm breath by your ear as he whispered, “Right here.”   
Your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. Without warning he began running his hands along all the curves of your body while continuing to kiss every inch of your face and neck.   
You recognized the ardor and hunger in his movement because you felt it too, and you decided it was time to stop fighting it. You bit his bottom lip, and Negan groaned with a mix of surprise and pleasure as you closed the remaining space between your bodies and pushed him towards the bed.   
When you both collapsed onto the soft comforter, you noticed how silent the room was. You could almost hear the drumming of your heart, but you were completely at peace. You had shown some aggressiveness, but now you were totally resigned to let Negan take charge.   
With a quiet chuckle, Negan rolled out from underneath you and somehow wound up on top. Pinned down to the bed, in what you thought would be your most vulnerable state; you now put all of your trust in him.   
The ability to rely on someone—to _truly_ trust another person with your body, with your _life_ —you thought it had been lost forever. Getting it back, by relinquishing control, made you feel powerful in a new kind of way.   
After one more deep, intense kiss, you pulled away and the two of you began tearing at each other’s clothes until there was no fabric left to separate him from you. His hands every inch of you now, and although they were rough and calloused, they moved with gentle consideration.   
You wrapped your arms around his back, trying to draw him in even closer, if that was at all possible. At one point you ran your right hand along his lower back, and your stiches lightly grazed his skin. For a split second Negan tensed up, and remorse replaced arousal as he looked into your eyes.   
“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said in a faint voice.   
“Don’t be,” you panted. You tried to kiss him again but he pulled away.   
“No, I fucking _am_. And I’m fucking lucky you were able to look past my piss-poor first impression.”   
You tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. “So am I,” you smiled playfully.   
“There’s only one fucking thing I don’t regret about that night,” he said, now with more confidence.   
You kissed him on his forehead. “And what’s that?”   
He then looked at you with an expression far greater than fondness, far greater than simple lust. “Telling you that you’re beautiful,” he sighed, lowering you back down onto the bed.   
You melted into the sheets as you let him continue pleasuring you, and in that peaceful, powerful, beautiful moment, you felt yourself come back to life. 

* * * *

It was almost dawn when you awoke. Traces of a rising sun poked through the bedroom windows, and you turned in bed to see Negan lying beside you, still caught in a deep sleep. You had to get back to the dormitories to pack your things before the return trip to Alexandria. That wouldn’t be until later in the day, but you also didn’t want anyone from the Sanctuary catching you sneaking out of Negan’s house at this hour. Not that there was anything dishonorable about your sleeping with him, but the last thing you wanted these people to think before you left was that this was the _real_ reason you were such an excellent negotiator.   
You gathered up all of your clothes as quietly as possible, which was difficult to do considering they were scattered everywhere. You smirked to yourself as you recalled the wild intensity of the previous night. Part of you wasn’t even sure if it had been real. But one quick glance over at Negan once you were dressed and on your way out the door reassured you that it was not only real, but also the start of a fresh and exciting new chapter.   
Dreamily walking on the path that led back to your room, you relished in the tranquility of the fading darkness and growing light. You had hardly seen the Sanctuary during the day without all the hustle and bustle of workers and Saviors, and you were quite enjoying the desolate atmosphere.   
At least it _seemed_ desolate until you spotted Dwight, Bill, and a few other honorary members of the “Y/N Hate Club” strolling towards you. Suddenly being alone in the moment no longer felt like a blessing.   
You didn’t have your swords, but the men were too close for you to retreat back to Negan’s now. You decided to forge ahead, your eyes fixed on the stumbling figures with trepidation.   
As they hobbled closer, you realized they were still wasted from last night’s party. They probably had just awoken after passing out somewhere on the side of the road. “Well, well, well,” Bill slurred. “If it isn’t Negan’s favorite whore!”   
You thought it best not to engage with them, and intended to stride forward without so much as a single quip.   
That was, until, one of the men reached out and caught your arm.   
“What are you doing?” you shrieked in panic.   
As you tried to pull out of his tight grip, Dwight grabbed your other arm so that you were fully restrained. To make matters worse, Bill cupped his hands over your mouth to muffle your screams.   
They began dragging you off the pathway as you contorted your body to break free. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, your heart beat heavy like a gong in your chest, and your vision blurred into a deep red while your feet dragged through the dirt below.   
This was it. You were coming full circle now. You’d had your one moment of bliss and now the darkness was coming to consume you again.   
There were shadowed alleys off to the side between multiple buildings that you expected them to duck into, but then they made a sharp turn over to a peculiar beige house with flowerbeds on the windows. You remembered passing this structure with Negan on your walk together the first night at the Sanctuary. Why would they take you some place where a few isolated, older ladies lived?   
When they approached the porch steps, they forced you to kneel down in front of the entrance.   
Dwight drew his mouth close to your ear. “You think this place is so fucking harmonious don’t you? You think everybody just obediently works for their points and never questions Negan’s authority? You think he really gives a shit about us or any other community, including your precious Alexandria? Time to wake up sweetheart, ‘cause Negan only gives a shit about _one_ thing.”   
Maybe Dwight’s words should have scared you, but you were too relieved that you were wrong about his group’s true intentions with you to care. When Bill kicked open the door of the house, the only thing you felt was confusion.   
It was like you had stepped out of a post-apocalyptic survivor’s camp and right into the Playboy mansion. Numerous women in lacey lingerie were waltzing about on plush carpets, or situated on elegantly furnished loveseats, sipping tea from fine China and laughing with each other like they had just heard juicy gossip from their favorite tabloids.   
“Tell me what the fuck this is _right now_ ,” you demanded.   
“Get used to it, doll” Bill snickered, “since you’ll probably be joining them soon.”   
You shook your head, repulsed by his statement. “I want no part of this. What the hell is a brothel doing in the middle of the Sanctuary?”  
You noticed the men had let go of you, so you shakily rose to your feet and turned to face them. They knew you wouldn’t run away, because now you wanted…. no, _needed_ , an explanation.   
“This ain’t no brothel, hon,” one of the Saviors, who you recalled was named Kevin, began. “This here’s a harem… _Negan’s_ harem to be exact. And those lovely ladies you see before ya are all a’ his wives.”   
You blinked a few times, feeling a bit disoriented. “I still don’t understand,” you stated with bewilderment. In reality the truth was starting to settle in, but you couldn’t come to grips with it yet.   
“I’ll put it for you simply,” Dwight said. “If Negan finds you attractive enough, he’ll ask you to be a wife. If you agree, you abandon all previous engagements to other men, and you have sex with him whenever he demands. In return you don’t work for points, and you get to live in luxury, separated from the squalor the rest of us endure on a daily basis.”   
Your lips trembled as you tried to keep the tears at bay. Dwight placed a hand on your shoulder and you jumped a little.   
“Oh, and if you happen to cheat on Negan, say with a old boyfriend or husband of yours, then he might be inclined to burn half of that man’s face off with a hot iron.” You realized Dwight was talking about himself, and you clutched your chest in disbelief.   
“Which one is she?” you forced yourself to ask him.  
He pointed towards a redheaded woman sitting on a cushioned chair. “Sherry.” His voice filled with sadness. “She was my wife before the apocalypse. Now she can’t even look at me.”   
Your next words came out with exasperated effort. “He _took_ her from you?”   
Dwight nodded solemnly. “Yeah, but she also chose to go. He really likes you. It seems different than the way his relationships started off with all his other wives. I mean, you’ve already slept with him and everything.”   
Your face flushed red, not from embarrassment, but from rage.   
“Something tells me that when he asks _you_ to become a wife, it won’t be much of a choice. In his eyes you’ve basically said ‘yes’ already.’”   
You suddenly felt a twinge of gratitude towards these men. It seemed that the entire time they had been watching you with Negan, their disdain had been directed at _him_ instead of you.   
Your hands curled into tight fists, as you traced along the stitches in the palm of your right hand.   
“Unfortunately for him, I won’t be around for the offer to be made.”   
You recalled that he mentioned last night wanting to talk to you about something important before you embarked on your trip home, and now you knew what it was. He just wanted another prostitute, and you were _never_ going to give him what he wanted again.   
To keep yourself from crying on the spot, you focused on your sympathy for Dwight as you turned to him one last time and said, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”   
Then you nodded at Bill and the others, did an about-face from the door of the harem, and stormed off in the direction of your dorm.   
You heard Kevin say out loud, “Well done, Bill. That was one of your best ideas yet. Showin’ her what he really is.”   
You didn’t care that this had been Bill’s plan. In fact, you weren’t mad at him at all. Once you were far enough away from the scene, you buried your face in your hands. Negan’s words from the night you had unknowingly encountered his house full of wives echoed in your mind, as you recalled questioning him about what dwelled behind those beige walls.  
_I wouldn’t test it if I were you_ , he’d chimed. You thought about the lies he had spoon-fed you about the solitary women who supposedly lived there, and how he had seemed so concerned for your safety.   
What you had mistaken for concern had really been a warning for you not to trespass upon his darkest of secrets. He thought he could hide it from you…hide who he really was.   
The person Dwight described didn’t sound like the Negan you knew. The Negan you knew could be reasonable when negotiated with, honest, and surprisingly human. The man they were talking about was cold and unforgiving, hollow and manipulative…a monster.   
You felt violated, used, and worst of all, disgusted with yourself. In a way, this was worse than the first time you had been taken advantage of, because _this_ time you had fallen for it like a fool. You willingly let it happen. You had been so focused on finding a way to heal that you couldn’t see the danger lurking right in front of you. How could you have been so blind?   
You realized that while you were staring at his wives through blurred vision caused by oncoming tears, you could finally see clear as day. Now you let those tears fall freely, no longer able to contain your pain.   
Your first impression of Negan had been right all along, and you should have trusted your instincts no matter what. The only person you could truly trust in the end was yourself.   
No, you definitely weren’t mad at Bill. If it weren’t for the fact that his late friend was a rapist, you probably wouldn’t hate him at all. And maybe he didn’t know the truth about his deceased friend. Or worse, maybe the attack on Margery hadn’t even happened, and Negan made it up to play on your sensitivities and make himself look a like a hero in your eyes.   
You concentrated on trying to untangle yourself from the web of deception he had spun this entire week, seeing if there was any truth to separate from the mess. It was the only thing you could do to keep yourself from collapsing into uncontrollable sobs.

When you arrived at your room you began packing right away. What you told Bill and the others was true: you didn’t intend to stick around so Negan could get his hands on you again. Strapping your swords to your back, you grabbed your small bag of belongings and headed off to find the one person with the resources to get you out of here as quickly and discreetly as possible.   
It only took a couple of knocks on his door before Daniel opened up, still half asleep and clearly hung over from the previous night. “Y/N? What are you doing here? The sun’s barely up in the sky right now.”   
As he rubbed his eyes you started to explain. “Daniel, I know I’m not supposed to leave until later in the day, but you need to take me back to Alexandria _now_. I know you’ve got all the keys to every vehicle in the Sanctuary hanging up somewhere in your house, so that’s why I came to you.”   
Daniel tilted his head. “But why do you need to leave now? Does Negan know about this?”   
You didn’t feel like answering his questions, but you tried to mask your impatience. “No, but if I stay any longer…I think I might try to kill Negan, and I can’t jeopardize Alexandria like that.”   
You could see that Daniel was fighting to remain calm upon learning this news. “Why would you want to hurt him at all?” he questioned. “I saw the two of you last night. You couldn’t stay away from each other. I thought he was going to ask you to be a wife.”   
A single tear trickled down your face. “That’s just the thing…I didn’t know about the wives. Not _then_ anyway.”   
Daniel’s eyes widened. “He told me you already knew and you didn’t care. That you were thinking about accepting his offer.”   
He could see the anger, shame, and desperation in your eyes. “The only thing I’d accept right now is his head on a silver platter, and that’s why I have to go. Looks like we’ve both been lied to, Daniel.”   
He rubbed at his temples. “I don’t believe it.”   
You took Daniel’s hand and squeezed it. “Please,” you begged. “I need your help. Negan trusts you more than anybody, so if he finds out you took me back, you can make up any explanation to get yourself off the hook and he’ll believe you. Now will you drive me to Alexandria or not? You’re one of my closest friends here. I really don’t want to have to take a set of keys from you by force.”   
Daniel looked into your eyes for a silent moment, considering your plight. Then he let go of your trembling hand and disappeared into the house. Several seconds later, you heard the jingling of a set of keys.   
Suddenly Daniel poked his head outside the door. “Give me a minute to get dressed,” he said, “and then I’ll take you home.”


	6. Breaking Point

_Her mop of red curls poked out from the corner of a nearby building, and she watched you run off the porch steps, your hands covering your face to hide your emotional turmoil. She knew, as her eyes followed your vanishing figure down the road, that she would probably never see you here again._  
_She wanted to chase after you, but she couldn’t leave her hiding spot without being noticed. Her vision darted back to Bill, who was surrounded by his pathetic group of friends, patting him on the back for his good work. The same Bill who had encouraged that disgusting pig, Sean, to pursue her when she first arrived at the Sanctuary a few years back._  
_While Negan had saved her from a vicious attack by beating her molester to death, Bill had long since run away from the scene. Now here he was once more, sneaking behind Negan’s back, trying to tarnish the reputation of the one person who had looked out for her._  
_The only Savior who had any justification for being there right now was Dwight. She could understand why he would hold a grudge, as the whole wife situation was a tough pill to swallow._  
_She knew that Negan wasn’t perfect, but he would’ve taken care of you—her new friend—the only person besides Negan to actually try to form a connection with her. In her eyes, you were too good for this world. Kind-hearted, sincere, and compassionate. And she believed Negan would have treated you the way you deserved to be treated…with love and respect._  
_Now Bill had driven you away. As the men walked off, still laughing at a job well done, she withdrew further into cover, deciding that this time she could not remain silent._

_She heard the truck pull back into the Sanctuary about an hour and a half later. A crowd had gathered at the driveway, with Negan at the center of it all. He had a tight hold on Lucille, and he was shouting obscenities she couldn’t quite make out over the revving of the truck’s engine._  
_She watched the silhouette of the mystery driver as he turned off the vehicle’s ignition and opened his door. To everyone’s shock, including her own, Daniel hopped out. Negan’s eyes were wide with disbelief at the site of this betrayal. He charged towards Daniel with unhinged fury and gripped him by his throat._  
_“WHERE IS SHE?!” he screamed._  
_“Please Negan! Let me explain,” Daniel gasped. “You’ve always trusted me.”_  
_At this, Negan squeezed his neck a little harder. “Trusted you? Not anymore, you fucking **traitor.** ”_  
_His words were venomous. He held Daniel up so his toes barely grazed the ground. She saw how his face began to drain of color, and she knew it was now or never._  
_“STOP!” she shouted as loud as she could. Negan abruptly let go of Daniel’s throat, and Daniel subsequently collapsed to the floor. Frozen where he was, Negan was unable to comprehend that she even had the ability to raise her voice._  
_He waited until she was inches from him, then he bent down so she could whisper in his ear. “It’s not his fault. Bill showed her your wives. I saw it with my own eyes. He made her want to run away.”_  
_He nodded grimly at her words, then let her go over to Daniel and help him up. He proceeded to turn to a few of his loyal Saviors and quietly gave them an urgent command. They disappeared and came back a couple of minutes later with Bill in tow._  
_“I didn’t do anything!” he cried. “I’m not guilty!”_  
_The other men threw him to his knees in front of Negan._  
_“Always trying to play the fucking innocent card.” Negan lifted Bill’s chin with Lucille until he was looking up into his leader’s eyes. “I have an eye witness, a very reliable source, might I add, placing **you** right at the scene of the crime.”_  
_Bill began to sob. “What crime?! I don’t know what you’re talking about sir!” he wailed._  
_Now Negan had lost all patience. “ENOUGH!” His voice boomed like thunder through the Sanctuary. “Quit trying to fuckin’ play dumb. First you take swords that don’t belong to you, and I just sock you once in the stomach. Secondly, you try to take food that you didn’t even **earn** , and what do I do as a gracious leader? I let you off with a small scar and a simple warning. But you just don’t fucking learn, do you?”_  
_She could see where this was going for Bill, and it wasn’t looking good. Negan continued listing off all of Bill’s recent offenses. “Now…to top it off, you have the audacity to undermine my fucking generosity and graciousness by taking away the **one person** that I—you know what? It doesn’t matter. How do they fuckin’ say it in baseball again?”_  
_Negan tapped the top of Lucille in the palm of his hand as a sinister grin accompanied the coldness in his eyes. “Oh yeah. ‘One…two…three strikes **you’re out.** ’”_  
_Just as Bill cried out for mercy, Lucille came down upon his head, breaking open his skull in the process. Blood splattered upwards like reverse rain towards the sky, but Bill surprisingly remained on his knees._  
_Negan struck him again, this time at more of a sideways angle, which had what was left of Bill toppling over in slow motion like a falling skyscraper. One of his eyes had popped out of its socket, and his cranium was now a gaping hole of crimson and burgundy._  
_There was no hope for recovery, but Negan wasn’t finished. With one final blow, Bill’s head burst completely open, and the fingers on his left hand twitched with one last sign of life on a short-circuit. A pool of red now formed by Lucille’s point of impact, surrounding Bill’s head with a sanguine crown._  
_Negan spat at the lurid scene before him. “Get this out of my sight,” he demanded to no one in particular, but handfuls of men from all sides came forward to help clean up._  
_Still clinging to Daniel, she watched Negan walk away with his head bowed. He looked disappointed and even a little lonely. She could understand how he was feeling. Killing Bill had felt gratifying in the moment, but his death could not undo the events that had taken place that morning._  
_The damage was done, and nothing could change the fact that Y/N was gone. Gone…and probably never coming back._


	7. Full Circle

You had returned…and you were never leaving again. This was the longest you had ever been out of your community since your group had discovered it, and as you watched the gates open up to you after a week away, it was the first time you felt like you were possibly coming back to your true home. It took seven days of separation and a walk through another nightmare for you to accept that you most likely belonged at Alexandria, even with the monster that dwelled behind its walls. Still, he was a monster that could be contained; monitored by you and by Daryl…and by others if you just gave them a chance and talked to them about the situation. And maybe you would try to be more open. Besides, you now knew that there were monsters just as terrible lurking outside your beloved community, and outside they had free reign to do as they pleased. 

Daniel had long since sped away in hopes of getting back to the Sanctuary without making a grand entrance, before Negan or the others awoke. You had given him a quick peck on the cheek before hopping out of the truck, sealing the entire experience with a kiss goodbye. You thought it was fitting to end it that way. The journey was over, and you were in no mood to retrace the steps of it any time soon.   
You knew that you’d be forced to remember everything soon enough, since the Saviors were supposed to show up later in the day to collect their weekly supplies. The very idea of revisiting those memories felt like a sharp thorn in your side. But as the gate finally lifted and you saw your friends waiting for you with open arms, the nagging thought all but vanished.   
Rick, as the group’s always-reliable leader, walked right up to you and placed his hand on your shoulder as a sign of welcome. “Glad to see you back in one piece, Y/N. We missed you around here.”   
And with that he pulled you in for a friendly hug. As he backed away he added, “I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on.”   
You nodded in tacit agreement. “It’s good to be home, Rick.”   
After greeting Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, Carl, and a few others, you looked over to where Daryl was waiting under the shade of a tall tree. His arms were crossed, and at first he looked just as pissed off as he was the day that you left him.   
When you drew closer, however, you could see a small smile beginning to form at the corners of his mouth. You stood there with him face-to-face while he studied your eyes. You felt like his stare had the power to pull out the hidden pain you tried so desperately to conceal during this light-hearted reunion.  
He gazed at you with deep understanding, as if he already knew the entire story of your seven days at the Sanctuary, and without a word he pulled you in for a tight embrace.   
Being in his arms, everything felt the same…and yet it was also entirely different. Daryl was still your closest friend in all of Alexandria, but the way he clung to you now, like he was afraid he could lose you if he let go, made you wonder: why _had_ he been so furious when you’d decided to go off with Negan in the first place?   
He pulled away quickly as if embarrassed, and his cheeks revealed the unmistakable pinkish hue of a slight blush. “Like Rick said,” he mumbled, “we missed you ‘round here. _I_ missed you ‘round here.”   
His arm jerked as if he wanted to reach out to you again and then instantly decided against it, and with that he hurried off down the road and out of sight.   
You weren’t insulted that he didn’t stay and chat. You knew he’d be more responsive, and probably have a lot of questions for you, the next time you caught him all alone. He was never one to show affection in front of this many people, and you were sure that’s why he left so abruptly.   
Could it be that Daryl had stronger feelings for you than you had anticipated? Staring off in the direction he had gone, you tried to shake the thought away. You didn’t know, due to your recent experiences, if you could handle that sort of drama right now.   
Still, after everything the two of you had been through, it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. Perhaps during your time away from Alexandria, you weren’t the _only_ one who had come to certain realizations about the people in your life. 

It wasn’t long after you had unpacked and settled in to your old house that Rick had summoned you to give a debriefing of your time at the Sanctuary to the most trusted members of your group. Since your return, you had consistently debated with yourself regarding how much information you should divulge to your family. You knew they already thought Negan was a monster—that wouldn’t take much convincing. What really worried you was whether or not they would take anything you said seriously if you confessed to them that you had slept with the enemy. Would they think, that because he dug his claws into you so easily, that you were now working as some sort of double agent for Negan? In the end, you decided it was best to share only _some_ of the truth about your time away from Alexandria.   
You began the meeting by talking logistics—the number of people living at the Sanctuary, locations, facilities, routines—as many details as you could specify to prove you had acted as a loyal spy. When you had finished your spiel, Rick was the first to ask a question.   
“What was Negan like, Y/N? How did he behave towards _you_?”  
Suddenly the pace of your heartbeat quickened. “H-He was…” you began. You made a mental note to stop stuttering and to maintain eye contact, so no one would suspect that you were hiding anything.   
“He was…cunning,” you finally said. “He tried to make himself out to be this benevolent leader, but only a handful of the people over there are buying what he’s selling. He attempted numerous times to win me over, to make me think that he wasn’t just some bloodsucking tyrant who takes whatever he wants when he wants it, but ultimately it didn’t work. I was able to see through the façade.”   
At this, Michonne tilted her head. “So when you say ‘a handful of people,’ are you implying there are Saviors who don’t approve of his dictatorship?”   
You nodded in affirmation. “Yes, from what I’ve seen, most of the residents there don’t like the fact that Negan calls all the shots. The only reason they’re so loyal to him, is because they _fear_ him.”   
Rick crossed his arms, signs of doubt on his face. “You can’t possibly be telling me that the Saviors we’ve encountered on the road are just a frightened flock of sheep? We’ve seen them act out of sheer brutality, and Negan was nowhere in sight.”   
You knew what Rick was getting at. He wanted to go to war with the entire Sanctuary, but you no longer desired that _or_ believed it was necessary. Besides, you now had friends in that community who you wanted to protect. The only thing your group really needed to do was find a way to overthrow Negan and put somebody _else_ in power.   
“Look, I’m not condoning anything the Saviors have done thus far, but these men _act_ because they are sincerely terrified of disobeying Negan. Even when he isn’t physically _there_ , his presence is felt. Failure to follow one of his orders can have, well, fatal consequences,” you explained. “Besides, not everyone who lives at the Sanctuary _is_ a Savior. Many of the people living under Negan’s thumb are just that: ordinary people, very much like the civilians of Alexandria.”   
Once again, Rick looked perplexed. “So what are you proposing then? That we don’t fight the people of the Sanctuary? That we don’t even _try_ to invade when we’re ready? You may know a lot of these people personally,” Rick said, and then gestured to the whole group, “but how do the rest of _us_ pick out the good from the bad?”   
You braced yourself for the reactions to what you were about to say.   
“You don’t,” you shrugged, and watched how the faces of everyone in the room dropped.   
Nobody said a word as they waited for you to elaborate. You thought about Carla, Daniel, and Margery. Even images of Dwight and Bill flashed in your mind for an instant.   
“Look, you’re right Rick. I _did_ get to know a lot of them personally, and the fact of the matter is, there are good people at the Sanctuary. And we don’t need to go to war with them because…they’re not the problem. They don’t deserve to die because of one man’s limitless ego.”   
Rick threw his hands in the air. “Who _does_ deserve to die then, Y/N? We need to figure out how to end all of this. It can’t just continue going on the way it is.”   
Rick and the group needed a plan, and you were going to give them one. “Think of it in terms of chess. Wouldn’t the game be over a lot faster if a player could knock down his or her opponent’s king without having to take out the surrounding pieces first? We could end this war before it begins…if we just take out Negan.”   
For another moment nobody said anything, then Glenn cleared his throat to speak up. “Are you talking about assassinating him? Because I really don’t think that’s the way to go. You said not everyone over there is a Negan fan, but those few who _are_ loyal are going to be pissed. Not only will they probably come for _us_ , but they probably won’t tolerate any new leader we try to put in place for them.”   
As Glenn shot down your idea, you placed your hands on your hips. “Well, if we can’t let him have free reign, and we also can’t kill him, we’re kind of caught between a rock and a hard place, no?”   
This time, Maggie spoke up in response. “Alright everyone, I know this may sound a little crazy, but what if we take him hostage?”   
Immediately you went on the defensive. You had come to terms with the fact that Carson would still be inside the walls of Alexandria with you, but having Negan here as well? You didn’t know if you could handle that. “And what hell is that going to do for us? Just delay the problem even longer?” you pressed.   
Maggie waved her hands. “Calm down, Y/N, and just hear me out. If we take him in as a hostage, the Saviors can’t invade because we could just threaten to kill their leader on the spot. If we have Negan here, then we have leverage over these Saviors. We can make a deal with ‘em. We could ask that they take…I don’t know, two weeks? Two weeks they have to function under different leadership. And maybe by the time it’s over, they won’t even want him back.”   
Rick seemed to approve of Maggie’s thought process. He spoke as if he were connecting the dots. “Basically we force them to see what freedom feels like…we make a deal that they go for a trial run without Negan’s iron fist.”   
You knew this wasn’t a terrible plan, but you felt disheartened by what it required of you to execute it. Daryl, who was standing off to your right side, must have noticed the change in your expression, because as soon as he looked over at you, he didn’t hesitate to point out a flaw in this approach.   
“So what if this jackass shows up here with another group of a couple dozen men? How the fuck are we supposed to kidnap him, huh?”   
Rick pursed his lips in puzzlement. “That’s true…it’s gonna be hard to get him by himself. Option B would be to go to the Sanctuary ourselves and secretly extract him from there.”   
Having been to the Sanctuary, you knew that trying to pull off a stunt like that would just get Rick and all of your friends killed. Your eyes fell to the floor and you exhaled slowly. A pit of terror festered at your core; you already felt weighed down by the burden you were about to volunteer to bare.   
“Well you can forget Option B, because that’s just a suicide mission.” You sighed. Time to deliver another half-truth.   
“I haven’t been completely honest with you guys about my experience at the Sanctuary. While I was there, Negan developed…quite a fondness for me. And it only grew stronger over the passing days. When I left this morning, I don’t think that was the last time he ever planned on seeing me.”   
You noticed how Daryl clenched his fists at your confession, new waves of anger rising to his surface. Still, you continued on, as all eyes were fixed firmly on you. “Maybe this sounds a little crazy too, but I know what I’m capable of. If you’ll allow me, I’m pretty sure I could lure him into an isolated area where we could take him hostage undetected. If this all falls through—if we’re _really_ going to do this—I could be the one to get him alone.” 

* * * *

Several hours later you were taking a stroll through Alexandria. Night was beginning to fall, but you felt safe on your own because you knew Carson always saw patients at this hour.   
Not only that, but Negan and his men never showed today to collect their weekly supplies. You figured it _might’ve_ had something to do with the fact that you had run away from him today, and you didn’t know how well that boded for you newly formed plan to defeat him. But those were worries for tomorrow. Tonight you were relieved to simply unwind and let your mind wander to things other than all the men who had done you wrong.   
That was, until, you noticed a man’s silhouette moving towards you from the opposite direction of the road. You could tell immediately that it was Daryl. You hadn’t seen him since the meeting, where he had acted very cross after you offered to be live bait for Negan. You had tried to speak with him, but he just brushed you aside and stormed off. Here was your chance to make things right.   
“Hey Daryl,” you said when he was only a few feet away. He stopped walking, but he didn’t respond. Clearly he was still aggravated.   
“Ya know, this walk would be a lot nicer if you would accompany me the rest of the way. Isn’t that what close friends do for each other?”   
He stared at the ground. In a low voice, he mumbled, “Don’t see the point in gettin’ close. Probably just gonna run away again anyway.”   
You put your hand to your forehead and then ran it down the side of your face. “Daryl…I’m not going anywhere, okay?”   
He looked up at you now, and there was hurt in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, until ya’ _did_.”   
His voice cracked as he spoke. “You were always talkin’ about it, but I didn’t think you’d go without me. First chance you get to run away you take it…even if it means goin’ off with that psychotic son of a bitch!” he yelled.   
“Daryl…” your own voice quivered as you said his name. A heavy lump began to form in your throat, but he didn’t wait for you to respond.   
“And hell knows what he did to you while you were there! Yeah…I could see it all over your face when you came back today. Somethin’ awful happened to you there. And now you wanna go off with him _again?_ ”   
You shook your head and grabbed Daryl by the shoulders, hoping some physical contact would get him to listen to you.   
“No! I never want to go back to where he is. I’m only doing this to help us all. And we’re going to be _right here_ in Alexandria!”   
Daryl pulled away from you. “But you’re still gonna be alone with him. Any goddamn thing can happen, and I can’t—I can’t _protect_ you.”   
His words came out sounding desperate. He looked so lost. You watched him in silence pacing back and forth, hands placed behind his neck, breathing heavily like there was something important on his mind.   
Suddenly he threw his hands up in surrender. “Between Carson and this other prick, I feel like you’re always in danger. Giving a shit about you is exhausting as hell!” Your chest felt heavy as he closed the distance between the two of you. He didn’t look very angry anymore, just defeated.   
“I’m just gettin’ tired of wonderin’ if every time I see you again…is gonna be the _last_ time I see you again.”   
You stood there with glassy eyes, trying to process what he was saying. Daryl wasn’t always the most articulate, but in his own way he was confirming what you’d wondered about since you got back: that he did, indeed, have feelings for you.   
Before you knew what was happening, he stepped forward, and with one strong hand he grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his mouth against yours.   
The initial meeting of your lips felt tense and awkward, and you got the sense that Daryl didn’t do this kind of thing often. But that realization also made you feel sort of special, knowing he was putting himself out there, wearing his heart on his sleeve, just for you.   
Letting go of your shock, you wrapped your hands around his neck, inviting him to move closer and deepen the kiss. You didn’t know just yet how attracted you were to him, but he made you feel protected, and you figured that was at least enough to warrant giving him a chance.   
The kiss was over as quickly as it had begun, but you had to lean in to catch Daryl’s now barely-audible voice. Looking at you with pleading eyes, he whispered, “Just let me see you again.”   
Then like a soft breeze in the night, he vanished down the road.


	8. Don't Say You're Sorry

You wished you could tell Daryl the truth. Since he had kissed you a week ago, the vibe between the two of you had changed. Instead of feeling closer, you felt further apart than ever before. The problem was that because Daryl had opened up to you, he now expected you to do the same for him. What he didn’t know was that the fate of all of Alexandria prevented you from doing so. Telling him what _really_ went down between you and Negan would have triggered Daryl to kill that bat-wielding psychopath—there was not a doubt in your mind about it. And right now, as much as the thought would put you at ease, a dead Negan served no purpose in your plan. All his demise would do is turn him into a martyr for the Saviors, which was the last thing you needed when trying to turn the tide against his rule. 

And today those tides would finally turn. Word from a Savior messenger had been sent out to Rick yesterday: Negan was coming, and he wanted his shit ready for pick up…or else. He would be here himself to ensure that this business transaction was taken care of.  
Well good. Let him come. You were ready—delighted even—to make his acquaintance again. You had had seven days to transform the sickening pit of dread in your stomach into a weight of confidence that kept you grounded and focused on accomplishing what you set out to do: fool him the way he had almost fooled you. Indeed, today was truly an exceptional day, not just because of the changing tides, but also because Negan chose to visit during one of the most joyous occasions in Alexandria.  
Every three months, the Alexandrians would choose one Sunday to enjoy a festival of sorts. People gathered up and cooked extra food for a big feast, music would be played, and sometimes dancing or games would take place afterwards. It served as a wonderful reminder that life could go on, even in the most trying of times, and that there were still good people here to celebrate that life with.  
Everyone usually dressed up for the occasion, and you imagined Negan, upon seeing each Alexandrian in his or her Sunday best, would assume they had done so just for his arrival. You didn’t mind if he made that assumption about you. In fact, you _wanted_ him to think you were trying to look good for him. The best you had wasn’t very extravagant attire—a floral-printed sundress with a denim jacket and some boots—but it would do.  
You grabbed a guitar you had left resting by the fireplace in your house and headed for the door. Negan wouldn’t be here for quite some time, and until then you had signed on to provide a little entertainment down by the lake at the center of the community for anyone who would stop and listen. It wasn’t a distraction though. On the contrary, you hoped that jamming out to a few tunes would help the time move by faster. You were impatient enough as it was. 

You had settled down onto a cozy patch of grass and began strumming. You didn’t know a whole lot of songs because you had just started learning to play right before the outbreak began, but luckily the people nowadays weren’t too picky about set lists. And although your voice wasn’t spectacular, its sweet and soothing tone was decent enough to turn heads and capture the ear’s attention.  
Today, one of those sets of ears belonged to Daryl. He was standing off in the distance as usual, far enough away to act like he didn’t notice what you were doing, but still close enough to be within listening range.  
The dozen or so children seated around you, and other passers-by, were swaying their heads to the music, and you basked in the tranquility of the moment. You decided now might be a good time to bust out some original material, and you switched over to a song you had written soon after your arrival to Alexandria, when you had gone through an ordeal that had altered your existence forever.  
Writing had been a way for you to cope with what had happened, and even though the tempo was slower and the words were heavy on your heart, your soft voice kept the tune light and mystical. While you sang, the world around you faded away…

_It’s like the sunrise falling_

_Back into the night_

_A glimpse of hope_

_Then it’s as if there was no light_

_The hush of the stars_

_Brings me to my knees_

_Wraps me around_

_In a gentle night breeze_

_Here in the dark_

_All I can say_

_Is “Take me down_

_To where the sun lays.”_

* * * *

 **She didn’t see him coming in, and he didn’t ask Rick about her when he entered through the gates with Lucille in tow. Signs of desperation weren’t fucking becoming on a ruler with a supposed “iron fist.” He saw her sitting by the lake, surrounded by kids, wearing a yellow dress and strumming an old acoustic—she looked like a Goddamn dream. She was singing a melody with lyrics he didn’t recognize, but the words didn’t matter.**  
**Just as Rick reacquainted him with that supposed “scientist” with the ridiculous- ass mullet, her voice carried over to him in the wind. Ignoring Mullet Man’s useless ramblings about the various types of supplies he was to receive today, he listened to her captivating, gentle voice. It was fuckin’ angelic as hell, and why wouldn’t it be? There seemed to be nothing she couldn’t do, except tolerate him.**  
**At some point before his departure, he needed to get her alone. He had to do something he hadn’t done in a very long time, not since before the beginning of apocalypse: explain himself.**  
**He couldn’t do it in public…not with his men around, and _certainly_ not with the Alexandrians as witnesses. He was a leader; someone meant to enforce, intimidate, and conquer. Back at the Sanctuary, he had convinced everyone that he had only murdered Bill because the now dead-man had “betrayed” him…not because the idiot’s actions had driven her away. And his men had all believed him too, or else they were damn fucking gifted at pretending to.**  
**_Nobody_ could see him begging for a second chance like some pussy-whipped dumbass…he wouldn’t risk it. He wouldn’t let her tarnish his image, as much as he cared for her.**  
**But it was more than that…way fuckin’ more. The well being of his wives, the Sanctuary, surviving— _those_ were things he cared about. No, what he felt for her was much stronger. He could deny it to his men all he wanted, but it was pointless denying it to himself.**  
**As he watched her, lost on her own peaceful fuckin’ planet, singing some stupid shit about the sunrise with her gorgeous voice, eyes closed and face towards the sky, he knew he probably didn’t deserve her. He had been through an ordeal like this with a woman before, and when times got tough, he didn’t run away with his tail between his legs, but instead did what he could to prove himself to her.**  
**He had to try. Because when you love someone, that’s just what you fuckin’ gotta do.**

* * * *

After what must have been another fifteen minutes of singing, some of the children seated around you began to stir, causing you to emerge from your restful, harmonious world.  
In an instant, you realized why they had scattered as you caught the flicker of a barbed wire wrapped baseball bat in your peripheral vision. You hit a bum note on your guitar and almost stopped playing altogether. However, you didn’t want him to know that his presence startled you, so you recovered quickly and continued strumming until you reached the end of the song.  
With as much restraint as you could manage, you casually removed the guitar strap from your shoulder, placed the instrument on the ground, and stood up to brush some blades of grass off your clothes. You looked up, and there he was, resting his bodyweight on Lucille with his typically arrogant posture. You waited for him to speak first.  
“Well, fuck…looks like you’ve been holding out on me darling,” he said, his face set in a serious expression that was hard to read. Maybe he _did_ feel bitterness towards you for fleeing the Sanctuary after all.  
“I—I have?” was all you could muster to ask. Panic over the plan being in possible jeopardy had mixed with your immense hatred for this man, and it wasn’t a pleasant combination. It didn’t help your high stress level when, in one long stride, he stepped closer to where you stood.  
“Hell yeah you have!” he grinned. “Who knew you had such a fucking amazing set of pipes!”  
You released a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in. You weren’t really feeling relieved, but it was good to know that he didn’t resent you for leaving him. Maybe now you could use the fact that he still wanted you to your advantage. Crossing your arms, you spoke more confidently.  
“Well…I don’t break them out for just anybody.”  
That was a lie, but it couldn’t hurt to play a little hard to get. Negan enjoyed that shit. You figured fuckers like him must love the refreshing challenge that comes with “the chase” when sex is usually so easily accessible. You turned your back to him so he couldn’t see the way your thoughts threatened to contort your face into a sickened expression.  
“Heh,” he chuckled. “If anybody has a fuckin’ right to hear ‘em, it’s me.”  
You had to clench your fists to keep from spinning around and punching the entitled prick square in the jaw.  
“You don’t have a right to _anything_ of mine, Negan.” You had to control the amount of venom in your words, particularly when you said his name aloud. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to my house to get ready for a special community meal here at Alexandria.”  
You were sure he was going to follow you over to your place. For a few seconds he fell in stride behind you, and you smirked because of how easy that was. Hook, line, and sinker.  
_Who’s the cocky one now, you son of a bitch?_  
But then you heard his footsteps come to a halt. Glancing back, you noticed how he surveyed the community, looking towards the various spots where his men were currently situated. Some of them were staring back.  
“Alrighty then,” he said nonchalantly. “Looks like we’ll have to talk some time after this supposed smorgasbord of yours. So if you’ll excuse _me_ , I gotta go tell Rick to add a few more place settings to the dinner table for me and my boys.”  
And just like that, he was gone. You stood there in disbelief. Now he was staying for dinner? You weren’t sure you could even stomach any food in his presence. But if dinner wasn’t for a couple more hours, why couldn’t he have just talked to you right then and there?  
That’s when it dawned on you: he didn’t want any of his precious Saviors to see him running off with you so soon after his arrival. What would they think of their macho leader if they had to bare witness to him following you around like a lovesick dog on a leash?  
Clearly he intended to sneak off to your place at a time when nobody could detect him, which worked out very much in your favor. You’d be there waiting for him, and Rick and the others would be looking for your signal to make their move. He was unknowingly falling further into your trap, as his men, not knowing his whereabouts, wouldn’t be able to put a stop to the plan.  
You smiled at the deliciousness of it all, eager to keep playing his game. You knew that when the time came for him to play yours, he was going to lose. 

* * * *

The dinner was uncomfortable at its best; nausea inducing at its worst. Any other night you would have enjoyed this spectacular feast, but not with Carson seated near one end of the table, and Negan at the head of the opposing side. You had placed yourself somewhere in the middle, as far away from both men as you could manage to be.  
Negan did his best to avoid you, either by taunting Rick in some way or cracking jokes with his men, but every once in a while you caught his gaze. In the shadows of the night, by the candlelight, you had to admit he looked good. He appeared sharp, poised, and self-assured, and you had to snap yourself out of admiring him by remembering all that he had done to you.  
Disgusted with yourself for even entertaining the possibility that the attraction was still there, you had completely lost your appetite. Others were already filtering out of the area to head for the comfort of their homes, and some Saviors were beginning to load up their trucks to prepare for the trek back to the Sanctuary, so it was the opportune time for you to excuse yourself.  
You nodded to Rick in what appeared to be a gesture of gratitude, but he knew it just meant that everything was about to be set in motion. Rising from your seat, you completely avoided looking over at Daryl, for you knew there was no encouragement to be had from where he sat.  
Before turning towards the direction of your house, you locked eyes with Negan one more time for the briefest of seconds, daring him with the intensity of your stare to come seek you out when he was ready. 

Your hands shook with nervousness and anticipation. For the first time since the two of you slept together, you would truly be alone. Only this time, it was at _your_ house, on your turf.  
You kept your swords leaning against the wall by the door, easily accessible just in case something were to go awry. All you had to do was knock him out, tie him up, and place a lighted candle in your window so Rick could come and take care of the rest.  
The unlit candle, along with a match, waited on a small table near your swords. You thought about something trivial: how long it would take for the candle to burn out if you just kept it lit, and that’s when you saw the silhouette of a man standing in front of your window.  
What followed was the sound of a barely audible knock. It was very unlike Negan to take the soft approach. You half-expected him to kick down the door when he showed up…but who else could this visitor be?  
For a split second you froze with horror, an image of Carson’s menacing face flashing in your mind. Peering through the peephole of your door, you saw Negan waiting there with Lucille resting by his side. You put your hand to your heart and exhaled, but why the hell did you feel relieved? If anything, you should have hated and feared Negan even _more_ than the first man to have made you into a victim.  
And yet, as you reached to unlock the door, you felt a certain calmness wash over you.  
When you were once more face to face the one who had been everything from an enemy to an ally to a lover, you didn’t know what to say right away. You opted to let him speak first, catering to his ego again, expecting some sort of snide remark. Instead, he walked in slowly as you shut the door, his head down and a hand rubbing the under part of his chin. He sighed loudly in frustration, like he was grappling with what to say.  
_That was new._  
Suddenly he turned around, and in a voice that seemed more upset than angry he asked, “Why did you leave?”  
His question caught you off guard, as Negan wasn’t the type to dwell on the past. Then again, he wasn’t the type to struggle with deciding what to say _either._  
Something was going on, and you didn’t want to piss him off. He knew you well enough to detect when you were lying, so you decided the best option was to give him the truth.  
“I found your wives,” you stated matter-of-factly.  
He stared at you blankly for a moment. “That’s _it?_ ” He almost sounded insulted, but you nodded your head in reply.  
“I didn’t wanna be one, so I left.”  
At this revelation he stepped closer to you, his voice a little louder, his tone a little harsher. “You didn’t fuckin’ _have_ to be! I already told you that you don’t have to do anything you don’t _want_ to do. We didn’t need a fucking title…it didn’t have to be anything!”  
You held up your hand as a signal for him to stop talking. “That’s the problem,” you explained, “I wouldn’t have been _anything_ to you.”  
At your words, Negan narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw. “You’re wrong. You’re more than that to me. And I don’t fucking say that often so you better _believe_ it.”  
Your heart raced with rage. You couldn’t hardly fathom how worked up you were getting because of him. Although none of this would matter in a few minutes, in the moment it seemed like the _only_ thing that mattered.  
“Is that supposed to be a threat? Because if it is, then your way of apologizing is really fucking twisted,” you seethed.  
His next words came out more somberly, his hardened expression softening a little. “That’s not why I came here.”  
“Okay, well then maybe you came by so you could explain why you had to _lie_ to me, hm? If I’m so extra fucking Goddamn special, then why couldn’t you bother to tell me about all of your ‘wives’ in the first place?”  
As you awaited his response, you saw a flicker of sympathy cross over his face. “Your past,” he began to explain. “I didn’t wanna overwhelm you the second you got there. Figured you despised me enough already…” he smirked, “Why add more fuel to the fire?”  
Watching him pour his heart out, you felt conflicted. You could have knocked him into unconsciousness that second and he would never have expected it. But you didn’t. You wanted to hear more. After all the shit you had been through, you deserved an honest explanation.  
Negan sat down on your couch and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “But then I got to know you better. That doesn’t happen a lot with my wives. If I decide I like the way they look, I pretty much skip the fucking formalities of a relationship and make my proposal. I get to know them well enough later on.”  
You crossed your arms in disapproval at what he implied by that last part, but allowed him to continue.  
“Everything happened in reverse with you. Hell, we didn’t even start out on the same fucking _side._ But like I said, I got to know you. And then you started asking me about _myself_.”  
He seemed amused as he reminisced on this, chuckling to himself. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people don’t usually question me. And they especially don’t question me about _me_. But strangely enough…I liked it. I liked _you_. Wasn’t sure all week if the feeling would be reciprocated, and then on that last night you just laid all your fucking cards on the table. Don’t think you planned on doing that… _I_ certainly didn’t plan on it. But I _did_ plan on telling you after that night. That was, until I woke up the next morning and you were gone.”  
He looked up at you now with hurt in his eyes, but you weren’t completely sold yet. “So that’s all? You were just waiting until the right time to tell me? You didn’t think I could handle the news up front?”  
Negan stood back up and took your hands in his. “I think you can handle damn near anything, but I fuckin’ know a damaged soul when I see one.”  
You winced at the word “damaged” and backed away from him.  
“You don’t know anything _about_ me!” you said defensively, raising your voice. “And—and I barely know anything about _you!_ When they showed me the room full of your wives I realized: I was laying with a fucking _stranger_!”  
Negan pointed a finger in your direction. “You see… _that’s_ why I came. It’s time I told you about Lucille.”  
You shook your head and turned away from him. This whole conversation was starting to take an emotional toll on you, and you no longer approved.  
“Forget it,” you said with a quiver in your voice. “The opportunity’s lost. I’m not interested in hearing about your fucking _bat_ anymore.”  
For a moment there was only silence behind you, and then in a voice full of grief you heard Negan say: “She isn’t just a fucking _baseball bat_ …she was my wife.” 

Negan made true on his promise. He told you all the important parts of his past. How he had once been a middle school gym teacher. How his wife, Lucille, had always hassled him about the way he cursed in front of his students. How he had been unfaithful to her, and only admitted to his infidelity when he found out that she had cancer. How he realized she was the only woman he had ever loved, and how he had come to that realization when it was too late. How he stayed by her side until the day she died, which was also the day he discovered that people could turn—only several days _after_ it all began.  
You sat on the couch through all of this with your head in your hands. You weren’t sure how much time had passed listening to his story, but you didn’t care. Rick was an afterthought.  
“Is that why you’re so strict when it comes to your wives cheating on you? Is there a part of you that still feels guilty for what you did to your wife, and you’re trying to compensate for that or something?”  
Negan shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. Do I look like a damn shrink to you?” It was a rhetorical question, so you didn’t answer.  
“It also explains all the wives. You’re trying to fill the space she left in your heart.” Negan smiled at your attempts to psychoanalyze him, but his melancholic tone gave away how he really felt. “Don’t get all fucking sentimental on me now,” he said half-heartedly.  
You got on your feet and walked over to where he was standing. “Nobody could replace her though, could they?”  
You looked at him with pleading eyes, desperate to know what he was thinking. Stepping closer, you asked, “ _Can_ they?”  
He took your hands once more, and his own eyes portrayed a certain vulnerability you suspected no one had seen from him since the start of the apocalypse.  
“You’re the closest anybody has ever fuckin’ come. I don’t know why, and it kills me that I can’t put it into fucking words,” he admitted.  
You looked at him with reassurance. “Then don’t use your words,” you said softly.  
And then he kissed you.  
With his lips on yours, the plan was no longer a factor. Time was no longer a factor. _Carson_ was no long a factor. All of your surroundings became background noise. Standing there in his arms, you now knew why you had _really_ been in so much pain when you discovered the truth about Negan’s wives.  
It wasn’t like what happened with Carson at all—you never gave a shit about Carson. Never even noticed him really until the night he robbed you of your dignity. After that, he was nothing more than an animal you were stuck in a cage with. Negan, however, had been different. You _wanted_ to not give a shit about him; to just label him as another monster. But finding out about his harem had hurt so much because it forced you to confront the feelings you had been developing…and that you had tried in vain to deny.  
Even _before_ that, as you slept with him on that seemingly perfect night, you couldn’t admit how you felt—to Negan or to yourself. Negan had said you were a damaged soul, but were souls as damaged as yours capable of repair? Or even capable of falling in love?  
All these thoughts raced through your head as you deepened the kiss, and your spirits started to lighten. You wondered how it was possible for him to get all of that out of you without even saying a single word.  
As you were pondering this, you felt Negan pull away. Placing a kiss on your forehead he asked in a whisper, “Who did it? I need to know. Who the fuck is it that makes you lock your doors?”  
You knew what he meant, and the break from the kiss was a harsh reminder of what you were supposed to do next. You couldn’t betray your family, but you didn’t want your moment with Negan to end, especially in such a violent and deceitful way.  
A tear rolled down your cheek for what you were about to do, but you knew Negan would think it was for the name you were about to say. You figured it couldn’t hurt for him to know. What could he do when he’s locked up anyway? You buried your face into his shoulder, allowing him to wrap his arms around you, and tried your best to conceal your trembling hands.  
With your eyes tightly shut, you said in a quiet voice, “Carson…our doctor.”  
In a long, shaky breath, you prepared yourself for what was coming next as you broke away from his embrace.  
He met your eyes, and in a truly sincere voice, he softly said, “I’m sorry.”  
You were _going_ to reply with, “No, I am.” You were _going_ to knock him onto the cold, hard floor. You were _going_ to say goodbye to the only person who you felt at home with wherever and whenever you were together.  
Only you never got the chance, because as you stared into the eyes of the man who had suddenly taken up your whole world with one simple kiss, that whole world went black. 

* * * *

 

You woke up slowly, hazily, the world blurring in and out of focus. The walls around you were a blinding white, and you only knew that you were lying in a bed in the infirmary—Carson’s domain. Someone must have brought you here, but Negan was gone.  
You didn’t even have time to be afraid, as the sounds of muffled cries reached your eardrums. Slowly your surroundings grew steadier, and you picked up the sharper noise of bloodcurdling screams. Immediately you shot to your feet, fearing the worst.  
It took a second for you to regain your balance when you stood back up. Dark spots danced across your vision, but as soon as they cleared you were on the move. Bursting through the door and running down the road, you followed the sobs and shouts of your people. A million scenarios ran through your mind as you imagined Negan making his escape, wreaking havoc on everyone in his way.  
You didn’t even know how long you had been knocked out, and in that time he could have done anything. You tried to shut the little voices off but you knew deep down that Negan was, indeed, _capable_ of anything.  
Up ahead you saw a small crowd of civilians gathered around a bloody body, and your running feet came to a screeching halt when you realized whom it was they were mourning.  
His brain had been completely pulverized, like someone had pushed him headfirst through a meat grinder and then stopped when they got to his neck. But you didn’t need a face to go with the body…the white lab coat was a telltale sign of his identity: Carson, the man you had pictured dead in your dreams in a million ways, but never quite like this.  
You were entranced by his rotting corpse, lying lifelessly in a pool of dark red; his spattered brains almost forming a circle where his head should have been, like some sort of twisted halo. Getting over your initial shock, a small smile formed on your lips. His new look suited him—it was justice for what he had done to you. In a world where it seemed like law, order, fairness, _rules_ …had been thrown out the window, somehow evil had finally gotten its comeuppance.  
Negan had given that to you…it _had_ to have been him.  
As you considered this, tears welled in your eyes and made their way down your cheeks. It was a good thing that you were crying instead of smiling…now you’d blend right in. You glanced around at the sordid display of weeping townsfolk, ignorant to the degenerate monstrosity; the animalistic excuse of a person they were grieving over.  
It made you sick to watch their sorrow. It made you angry. You suddenly had a strange urge to grab them by their necks and strangle them until they stopped their wailing. That’s when you decided it was time to walk away. There was no need to be on edge anymore, there was no need to fight. Relief washed over you now, and you felt lighter than you had in a long, long time.  
Negan was definitely gone, but you needed to find a way to thank him for what he had done for you. Not even a small part of you was mad at him, and you knew it was terrible, because now Alexandria would need to find another doctor.  
As you jogged further down the road, literally leaving Carson behind, you knew you had to find Rick and sort this all out. He would probably be fuming about the situation, and he might even suspect that you were a part of Negan’s plan. You had to explain everything to him: your history with Carson, your complicated relationship with Negan, and the reason why your plan to capture him had failed. You had been quiet long enough.  
As you continued running towards Rick’s residence, you had time to take note of details you hadn’t been able to pay attention to, due to the chaos of the moment before. The moon was much higher in the sky now. You must have been blacked out for an hour or two at least. You also noticed that Alexandria was rather empty. There was not a Savior in sight—they all must’ve hightailed it out of there soon after Negan introduced Carson to the deadly end of Lucille.  
But Negan’s men weren’t the _only_ ones who were missing…it seemed like a few of your people were gone as well. When you arrived at Rick’s house, you didn’t need to knock on his door to know that nobody was home. You gazed at the dark windows of the vacant house, unable to shake the eerie feeling that something wasn’t quite right. That’s when you heard someone calling your name.  
“Y/N” a shadow beckoned from afar.  
As the mystery figure drew closer, you could make out the shape of a sheriff’s hat in the night. Carl appeared before you, a little out of breath from running over to where you awaited. You gave him a quick hug.  
“Carl!” you exclaimed, relieved to see somebody, _any_ body from your original group. “I’m so glad you’re here.”  
He smiled, but his one good eye was frantic with worry. “I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N. My dad found you knocked out in your house, brought you over to the hospital to recover. I guess Negan got the jump on you, huh?”  
You nodded. “Pretty much beat me to the punch,” you confessed, a little ashamed to admit that Negan had tricked you. “But Carl, I gotta know: what’s going _on_?”  
Carl placed a hand on your shoulder. “This might be kinda tough to hear, but Carson’s dead. Negan beat him to a pulp and then disappeared with the Saviors. Retreated back to his pathetic ‘Sanctuary’ before we could get to him.”  
You slowly removed Carl’s comforting hand from your shoulder. “I already know about Carson’s fate.” You tried to mask your delight with devastation. “That’s not what I meant. I just wanna know why your house is empty. Where’s your dad? Where is the rest of our _group_?”  
Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “After he killed Carson, Negan ran off like I said, but he left _this_ behind.”  
He unfolded the note, and you read aloud the short, handwritten message: “Be back soon.” There was even a little heart drawn in the corner of the paper. You stared up at Carl with a questioning look.  
“We don't know what he's up to, but he’s coming back, and we’re going to be ready for him when he does,” he said with conviction. “Judith and I are staying over at Olivia’s tonight, but my dad left with the rest of our group to get ready for Negan’s return. They’re all waiting outside the gates of Alexandria right now, setting up some kind of ambush.”  
Your eyes widened in horror as you listened to Carl’s explanation. You understood why they were doing this. From Rick’s perspective, Negan had unjustifiably murdered their only medic in cold blood, and that had to be avenged.  
But Rick didn’t know what kind of person Carson was…what kind of savage he was seeking revenge _for_. If someone were killed in the crossfire of this ambush, his or her blood would now be on your hands, all because you couldn’t open your mouth when you had the chance.  
“Dammit! I should’ve just been honest with them!” you hissed.  
Now it was Carl’s turn to look confused. You shot him a panicked look. “I’ve gotta get out there _now!_ I’ve got to talk to your dad before Negan shows up again!”  
Carl held up a hand. “Wait!” he shouted. “My dad told me not to tell you about the plan. He said no matter how much you wanted to join the fight; he just needs to you to rest up. But you seemed so worried—I figured it couldn’t hurt to explain what happened and give you a _little_ reassurance. You’re not seriously going outside those gates now, are you?”  
Your heart was beating fast; you needed to get to the front of Alexandria as quickly as possible. There was no more time to chat with anybody except for Rick.  
“Yes,” you said firmly, “and don’t try to stop me.”  
With that, you spun on your heels and darted down the road. 

Your lungs burned as you continued sprinting, drawing closer to the community’s entrance. Father Gabriel, Sasha, and a few others were guarding the gate. They looked surprised to see you running towards them.  
“Y/N,” he said. “Rick told me you wouldn’t be up for a while.”  
Your chest heaved as you rested your hands on your knees. “Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m an early riser.”  
Gabriel eyed you with concern. “You should probably get back to bed though. Heard you took a nasty blow to the head.”  
You waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, but I’m afraid I can’t just go back to sleep. In fact, I need you to open the gate for me so I can get outside.”  
The priest shook his head. “Sorry Y/N. Nobody else is leaving or entering Alexandria until this mess gets sorted out. Rick’s orders.”  
You folded your arms in frustration. “Well I can’t accept that. It’s extremely important that I talk to him _before_ this ambush happens. I’m sure he’ll make an exception for me…now let me through.”  
You started to walk closer to the gate, but Gabriel stepped in front of you.  
“LET ME THROUGH!” you shouted, shoving him out of the way.  
As he stumbled, Sasha and some of the other guards came upon you, holding you back. Desperately you tried to finagle yourself free, but you were outnumbered. Father Gabriel stood back up and brushed off his black robe. Despite what had just transpired, his voice was calm.  
“Whatever matter it is you need to attend to with Rick, I’m sure it can wait until _after_ his plans are carried out.”  
You continued to struggle in vain to break away from the people holding you back. “NO!” you shrieked. “This ambush can’t happen. If somebody dies it will be for nothing! This is all just one big—  
As you were about to say “misunderstanding,” the loud roar of a group of trucks pulling up at the other side of the gate drowned out your voice. You heard a door slam and then the sound of multiple footsteps. More than one person was walking towards the entrance.  
“Little pig! Little pig! Let me IN!” Negan’s voice echoed through the air.  
For a moment nobody spoke. Sasha turned to Gabriel and asked, “So what do we do now?”  
He leaned closer to her and whispered, “We just wait. I’m sure Rick’s got somebody on him right now.”  
As they spoke, you noticed that the people that had been restraining you had let go, as all eyes were fixed on the gate. You knew better than to try and open it; they would just stop you again. Instead, you took advantage of the tense moment by making a dash for an empty guard tower to your left.  
Sasha was about to run after you, but the priest held her back.  
“Let her go,” he said. “She can’t get out over there. Most she can do now is watch.” You arrived at the base of the tower and began to climb. “That’s what you think buddy,” you grumbled to yourself.  
If you could just get to the top, if you could just let Negan _see_ you, then you’d be able to warn him about the ambush. Rick would be forced to come out of hiding and you’d have an opportunity to sort everything out.  
“C’mon Rick!” you heard Negan say. “Don’t be shy! I did you a favor taking out that asshole, and now I’ve come back with another gift for you!”  
You wondered what the hell he was talking about as you reached the top. Looking down in dismay you saw not only Negan waiting at the gate, but Carla as well. Why the fuck was _she_ with him? He was holding onto her closely, like she was being forced to stand there.  
“I’m the gift that keeps on fucking giving!” he yelled into the void. “Yeah he was deplorable fucking scum, but he was your deplorable fucking scum _doctor_ nevertheless. Since you no longer have one I figured I’d bring over mine as a show of good faith. Hopefully this makes up for any blood spillage your innocent townsfolk had to bare witness to.”  
So Negan had brought Carla over to ease the tension that came with Carson’s death, however Rick still didn’t know _why_ Negan had killed Carson in the first place. You had to shut him up and end this before it got ugly.  
“Now keep in mind,” Negan continued, always loving to hear himself talk, “she’s not yours to keep. I’m thinking we can split her time between both communities on an as-needed basis, but we’ll have to discuss that in detail once you OPEN YOUR GODDAMN GATES AND LET ME—  
“Negan!” you called as loud as you could, cutting him off. “Get back to your truck _now_!”  
The second he heard his name, his eyes darted over to where you were perched up above. “Y/N?” he hollered back. “What the fuck is going on?!”  
You pointed in the direction of his vehicle. “There’s no time to explain! Take Carla and get to your truck! We’ll talk later! GO!”  
Negan knew better than to fuck around, so he instantly darted back to his vehicle, a distraught Carla in tow.  
“Y/N!” Sasha cried out from down below. “What the hell are you doing? Get the fuck down from there _now_!”  
You shouted down to her, “In a second!”  
Now that your job was pretty much done, you were ready to deal with the nasty aftermath. But first you wanted to make sure that Negan and Carla got to safety. You peered over the fence once more to see their bobbing heads nearing the doors of the truck, and you exhaled in relief.  
“Thank God,” you said to yourself.  
You were about to turn away for good when a loud shot rang out, and you looked up in time to see Carla’s head snap back. Her knees buckled as Negan held onto her body and kept it from collapsing to the ground. You gasped in shock and watched helplessly as more shots were fired and Negan was forced to let go of Carla’s unresponsive body, making a run for cover.  
Saviors from the other trucks emerged now, firing towards the trees and abandoned houses where you knew Rick and the rest of your group were holding up. Tears blurred your vision as this nightmare unfolded before you… _because_ of you. Carla was dead, and now there was a chance more people were about to die.  
“No…” you sobbed, collapsing to your knees and placing your head in your hands. “This is all my fault.”  
Your cries were interrupted by Negan’s voice, booming over the gunfire, rising louder than you had ever heard it go before.  
“EVERYBODY STOP!” And they did, miraculously.  
Somehow you found the strength to heave yourself back up to your original vantage point at the top of the fence. You were grateful to see that Negan was now secure inside his truck, protected by his Saviors.  
After what seemed a like an eternal silence in the cease-fire, he actually _laughed_. You couldn’t believe your ears.  
“You stupid motherfuckers! It’s all so clear to me now. I should have beaten one of you to a pulp the first time I had that chance. Instead I tried to let one of you fucking _reason_ with me.”  
You could tell Negan was looking over at you now. Even from far away, his stare burned straight through you. Maybe he thought you manipulated him; somehow set this whole thing up yourself. The idea that he suspected you betrayed him…that you purposely caused Carla’s death, was almost too much to bear.  
“Well let me tell you, that’s not going to happen this time around. No siree. I’m here waving a white fucking flag, and you straight up murder my only doctor when _yours_ was a fucking rapist!”  
He continued to stare in your direction. “Or _was_ he? But…none of that matters now. This is an act I cannot fucking forgive.”  
He glanced around now to see if anyone would emerge from hiding or simply try to say something in response. Nobody spoke back. Negan seemed almost amused now.  
“You _do_ realize we outnumber you, right?! You don’t stand a fucking chance against us. Ask Y/N, she’ll tell you. Well, I’m sure she’s already given you all the information she could about our place. But I’ll tell you what. You just stay burrowed in your little bushes over there, Rick. My men and I got shit to do…we don’t got time to wait around all night for your sorry asses to come out from cover. But just know that once you’re nestled snug and safely back inside the walls of Alexandria, you are _not_ safe. Not even close. In fact, you are _fucked_.”  
His voice grew angrier now with a quaking rage that shook you at your core.  
“My men and I are going to head home and regroup. But when we come back…and we _will_ come back, we’re gonna blast your asses to kingdom come. You wanted an all-out war with us, you fuckers? Well now, you’ve got one.”  
And with one loud whistle, his men saddled up, hopped in their vehicles, and drove away. 

The departing trucks left rising clouds of dust in their wake, and when they dissipated, you saw Carla’s body yet again. Her arms and legs were sprawled out in different directions, and you could just barely make out the dark hole on her forehead where the bullet made its entry.  
Trying to hold back more gut-wrenching sobs, you whispered the only thing you could think of to say: “I’m sorry.”  
There was no time to say anything else, as Rick and his team made their way out from cover and ran towards the gate. Daryl was holding onto Glenn, and Michonne and Rosita were dragging Abraham, who didn’t seem to be moving at all. You climbed down the guard tower as fast as you could. The gates opened and Rick lumbered through, looking extremely distraught. You ran over to him.  
“Rick!” you cried. “Please, I need you to listen to me now before anything else happens. Carson was a terrible person. He _raped_ me, Rick. That’s why Negan killed him.”  
Rick looked at you with about as much pity and sympathy as he could muster, given the present situation. In a shaky voice he said, “I’m sorry that happened to you, Y/N. I wish you had told me sooner, I really do.”  
You had to blink to hold back more tears. “I wish I did too Rick. But I’m telling you _now_ so that you understand why Negan did what he did. He wasn’t trying to hurt us…he was trying to help. We need to try to talk to him and stop this war from happening!”  
Some of the pity that was in Rick’s eyes before transformed into anger. “That’s not possible. Nothing that happened before matters now. In the crossfire out there, Abraham was _killed_ , Y/N. Negan fired right at his heart. And another Savior shot Glenn. He’s injured now and we don’t have a doctor here to treat him.”  
You hadn’t noticed any of this, as you were so busy concerning yourself with Negan’s whereabouts during the ambush. Now you heard Rosita’s cries and Sasha’s wailing as Abraham’s body was carried in from outside, his shirt soaked a deep red around his chest area.  
Daryl followed behind them, with Glenn leaning on his shoulder. His left calf had been shot and he limped forward, wincing in agony. You covered your hands with your mouth.  
“Oh my God,” was all you could manage to say.  
“Like Negan said,” Rick explained in a solemn voice, “This is an act that cannot be forgiven.” He turned away from you now to address the group. “I need volunteers to drive Glenn to the Hilltop. They have a doctor there and he needs treatment immediately. I also need people to clean up the mess Negan left for us in the middle of the community. And Gabriel, start digging a grave. We need to give Abraham a proper funeral and burial later on.”  
Gabriel looked back at Rick. “You want me to dig just _one_ grave?”  
Rick glanced quickly in your direction then back to the priest. “Carson’s not getting a burial…he doesn’t _deserve_ one. We’re burning his body…and then, we’re going to war.”  
And with Rick’s final words, everyone was on the move to go complete their newly assigned objectives. As Rick went to tend to Abraham’s corpse, he passed a forlorn-looking Daryl.  
You watched him pat Daryl on the back and say, “Hey, we’re going to get through this. And nice job on that shot. You may not have gotten Negan but at least you got the other one. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”  
When Daryl was left alone, you stormed over to where he was standing. You didn’t believe it was true. You couldn’t. So you had to hear it for yourself.  
“You… _shot her_?” you asked with dread, your eyes already glassy.  
“Yeah,” Daryl admitted with ease, “and I’d do it again if I had to.”  
You couldn’t stomach what he was saying. Abraham’s death could have been prevented, and Carla’s death had been caused directly by his hands. You were so disgusted you could hardly look at him.  
“But you _didn’t_ have to!” you seethed. Your voice was hoarse and you felt emotionally drained, yet your heart continued to hammer in your chest. “You could have told Rick the truth about Carson! You could have stopped the ambush from happening altogether!”  
Daryl leaned closer to you now. “And why would I wanna stop it, huh? Sure, Negan killed Carson, but he woulda done that to any one of us without blinkin’ an eye the minute we stepped outta line. He’s a fuckin’ tyrant and I ain’t livin’ under his rule!”  
Repulsed by his proximity, you shoved him away. “You _know_ that’s not the reason why you wanted to fight back! People are dead now because you didn’t speak up.” Tears streamed uncontrollably down your face. Daryl looked at you darkly and with hardly any sympathy.  
“I could say the same thing ‘bout you.”  
You shook your head, your lips quivering with hurt. “That’s not fair. I tried to stop it. I….”  
Your voice trailed off, as you realized nothing you said would be able to undo what had already happened.  
“Well you ain’t stoppin’ it now,” he declared. “There’s a war comin’ and there ain’t no gray area in between. You’re either with us or you’re not, so choose a damn side.” You eyed him with abhorrence as he stomped off, leaving you alone to think about everything that had come to pass. You already knew who you would choose to fight with…it was never even a question. But did that mean that you were on their _side_? For you there _were_ no sides, not anymore. Just like with Carla and Abraham, potential casualties from both the Sanctuary _and_ Alexandria would hurt like hell.  
Daryl was wrong. There _was_ a gray area—you were just trapped in it by yourself. No matter what the outcome of this war was; no matter which “side” won, you knew in the end…you were still going to lose.


	9. To Fight Again

The sun had risen fully by the time you made it back to your house. As you meandered through the path leading up to your doorway, exhaustion swept over you in full force. Your limbs felt heavy, and it was as if you were on the verge of collapse; your muscles burdened by the weight of your bones.   
It was dark inside your home save for a few rays of sun that seeped through the partially opened blinds. As you dragged your feet towards the kitchen to pour yourself something to drink, the shiny surface of one of your swords reflected a flash of white light directly into your eyes, temporarily blinding you.   
“Fuck, that is bright,” you said aloud, turning to face your most prized possessions.   
For a moment you just gazed at them, hypnotized for whatever reason by their quiet, luminous strength. “I haven’t needed you in a really long time,” you whispered, defeat heavy in your voice.   
You paused for a second, suddenly feeling strangely guilty. Nobody else was around, and yet you struggled to find the right words for what you were about to confess. “I—I feel terrible admitting this actually, but…I gotta say I really haven’t missed you all that much.”   
You glimpsed the swords once more, regret in your eyes. “I’m sorry, but i—it’s the truth. Despite all the terrible, messed-up shit that happened these past couple of weeks, you weren’t on my back. I felt _lighter_ —weightless almost…like I didn’t have to fight anymore.”   
You felt a lump form in your throat, making it difficult to continue speaking. “For a while there I almost fooled myself into thinking I wouldn’t _need_ to, but it was just a pipe dream.”   
Your voice quivered now as hot, fresh tears rolled down your face. “Nothing is ever going to get better. Regardless of whether we’re surrounded by monsters, or people we really care about. I realize that now. I’m alone in this…the only thing I have left anymore is the two of you.”   
You looked up at the weapons hesitantly, almost expecting some sort of confirmation; some reply of reassurance.   
“It’s okay if you don’t forgive me for basically abandoning you. I just gotta forgive myself now.” You wiped at the wetness on your cheeks. “That’s why I need to stay. _That’s_ why I need to fight: so I can finish what I started; try my best to make things right.”   
You took your weapons in your hands now, gently caressing them in your arms before strapping them on your back in their rightful places. You then reached behind you and gripped firmly to the handles sticking out just above both of your shoulders. “So we’ll go into battle—together—and maybe when this war has reached its end, maybe when this is all over…we can finally move on.”


	10. Home

You awoke from another restless sleep; impatient to hop out of bed and disentangle yourself from the covers you had tossed and turned in for all of the previous night. But you weren’t just impatient, you were eager as well—eager to get the day over with completely. In rare form, you had something you were actually looking forward to doing later on.  
Getting dressed quickly, you strapped your swords on your back and made your way outside, greeting the other early risers who passed by your residence. Alexandria was already buzzing with life, more than usual lately, but that was because everyone was excited now that the rebuilding was nearly done. If it weren’t for the irreparable craters found scattered here and there across the grounds, the damage done by the grenades and fires that almost destroyed this place would barely be traceable anymore.  
Indeed, you were truly proud of Rick and his team for the way they had won the war—by aligning with the Hilltop and the newly-discovered “Kingdom” in order to take down the Saviors. You were also very impressed with the way he had been able to lift Alexandria from the ashes and turn this community into an even better version of its original self.  
However, as you watched the smiling families moving into their refurbished homes, and listened to the hustle and bustle of people who were looking forward to living new and improved lives, you felt less like a participant and more like a spectator. The phrase “building the universe” sprang to mind, and you cackled at the irony of your situation. All around you now were people following the mantra you had tried to live by for so long…and you wanted nothing to do with it.  
In fact, since the war had ended, you noticed yourself slipping further and further into autopilot mode, fulfilling your duties and helping to progress towards reconstruction in a hollow, absent state.  
The decline really began when you and Daryl got together. It had taken you a couple of months to warm back up to him—to forgive him for killing your friend, but fighting against the Saviors had brought you closer once more. When the dust of battle had settled, the two of you decided to give your relationship a chance to see where it could go.  
Turns out, it went nowhere but south, practically obliterating the strong friendship you had shared for so long. But you just hadn’t felt right stringing him along. In the end he deserved the truth: that hard as you tried, you realized you would never be able to care for him as more than a friend.  
He didn’t take the rejection well, and in that moment you knew returning to the bond you shared before would be nearly impossible.  
These kinds of cracks were also irreparable.  
Daryl now treated you mostly with contempt—partly because he was ashamed of himself for failing in a relationship, and you were a constant reminder of that failure. However, it was also because he knew the _real_ reason why you would never love him the way he wanted you to…though neither of you ever named and any names.  
After the break up, you didn’t know what to do or who to talk to because you expected everybody to just feel bad for Daryl, so you grabbed the keys to the community jail and rushed down the steps to vent to the one person who you really connected with…and who had all the time in the world to listen.  
Once Rick and company had claimed victory in the war, Negan had been locked away, and that gave the two of you ample opportunities to clear the air. For example, he now knew that you were never behind the ambush that led to Carla’s untimely demise. Neither of you blamed each other for the events that transpired that fateful day. Instead, you both blamed yourselves.  
You still remembered how the tail end of that conversation went…

 _“I shouldn’t have fuckin’ brought her here in the first place. She never did fully trust me to look out for her,” he admitted. “Guess it turns out she had a reason not to.”_  
_“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen,” you argued. “If **I** didn’t know, how were you supposed to?”_  
_At this question, he had no rebuttal. “Suppose it’s better not to fuckin’ dwell on it anyway. All those ‘what ifs’ can drive a person directly into Straightjacket City. The past is in the fuckin past.”_  
_“Well, it’s not good to **ignore** the past either,” you countered. “I tried to do that for a long time, and look where it got me.”_  
_Negan’s eyes widened. “Excuse me, but you’re not the one fuckin’ serving a life sentence.”_  
_You slumped against a wall perpendicular to his cell. “Point taken,” you acknowledged. “It’s just sad to think that maybe if we saved Carla, we could have prevented all of **this.** ” You gestured to the metal bars that kept him caged in._  
_Negan buried his face in his hands. “You know…you are saying all the wrong fucking things right now.”_  
_“Sorry,” you sighed, and then tried to change the subject. “…You know there were people who argued that World War One was sparked by the assassination of a **single** person? Some Archduke of a country. I forget the name.”_  
_“Franz Ferdinand of Austria,” Negan grumbled._  
_You looked up, impressed. “You know your history!”_  
_Negan pointed to himself. “I was a teacher, remember?”_  
_“ **Gym** teacher,” you corrected._  
_“Still had to earn a degree for that shit you know. I took plenty of fuckin’ history classes,” he stated proudly._  
_"Then I’m sure you’ve heard that old saying: ‘history is doomed to repeat itself.’” You eyed him hesitantly._  
_“Well whoever the fucker was who pulled that quote out of his ass was wrong. That’s not always the case!” he barked._  
_“Negan…” you interjected, but he spoke over you, shutting you down._  
_“Oh fuck no! Don’t try that reprimanding bullshit with me! You just said that we shouldn’t ignore the past. Then I fuckin’ **wont!** I’ve learned from it. You gotta be able to see that!”_  
_You shot to your feet. “You expect me to believe you’ve been magically rehabilitated, just like that? I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it on your word alone….I can’t set you free.”_  
_“But…” he began._  
_Now it was your turn to interrupt. “Don’t ask me again,” you said sternly. “If you do, I just won’t come back.”_

Negan had taken your threat seriously. Ever since that day, he had not brought the topic up again. Today, you wondered if he might make one last ditch attempt after you delivered the news of your intended departure.  
As you descended the stairs to where he awaited, you had no idea _how_ exactly you were going to say this; you had no speech planned; yet your feet carried you down all the same.  
It had been over a week since your last conversation. You used to speak to each other every day, but you had to decrease your visits in order to convince Rick that you could be trusted to come alone, unguarded.  
For what you were going to say now, you just wanted it to be the two of you. Goodbyes were difficult enough without having other people hovering over your shoulder to eavesdrop.  
At the bottom of the staircase it was quiet, so quiet you couldn’t even hear him breathing. This didn’t concern you however because you knew the room was never empty—he was always there.  
When you turned the corner, you saw that the single light near his holding cell was on, illuminating a hunched over Negan resting on the edge of his cot.  
“Y/N,” was all he uttered.  
His head was down but he had recognized your footfalls on the staircase. It hadn’t occurred to you until now that he probably had the sound memorized; what with the number of times you had come to visit by now.  
Regardless, he usually perked up every time you came. Today, unfortunately, he seemed rather somber. It was like he already knew what you were going to say…and somehow that made saying it even harder.  
“Hi, Negan,” you started, trying to sound sweet and unassuming.  
“Been too damn long,” he replied, lifting his gaze up to your eyes.  
“Yeah I know, but you know how it is. If we want any quality time, I can’t be running down here every day. In fact, I really needed to talk to you about these visits—  
“ _Do_ I fucking know how it is?” he intervened. His tone was irritable at best.  
“Wh-what do you mean, exactly?” You knew that there was no way he could know about your plans to run off, since you had kept the idea to yourself. You waited for him to elaborate.  
“I talked to Rick about you,” he confessed, and your mouth fell open in disbelief.  
“Why? Why would you do that?” You felt an odd sense of betrayal stir within you.  
“Because you’ve been fucking drifting away from me, that’s why!” His voiced was raised but he wasn’t angry. If anything he seemed worried.  
You stood with your arms folded and let him continue talking. “Ever since you broke up with that redneck son of a bitch, you’ve been more and more distant. So I asked Rick if something else was going on with you. Sue me for fucking caring, okay?”  
Your expression softened a little in understanding. You were one of the only people who voluntarily kept him company. And you knew _he_ knew that you were most likely the only person left in this community or any of the nearby ones who genuinely cared about him. Of course it made sense that he was concerned.  
“What did he say? About me?” you pressed. Not that it really mattered, but curiosity got the best of you.  
“Turns out good ol’ Rick wasn’t much of a fucking help…as usual. Basically just confirmed what I’d been thinking. Said that you seemed more detached from things lately. Preferred to be off on your own. Didn’t make an effort to engage with anyone else anymore,” he explained.  
“That’s all?” You were kind of relieved. Despite your recent behavior, Rick and the others had zero suspicion that you were leaving. The only person you wanted to tell was standing right in front of you.  
“The hell do you _mean_ , ‘that’s all?’” he asked in astonishment. “Look, I may always refer to Rick as that one asshole who fucked up all the good shit I had going for me, but I also know he’s not fucking blind. He noticed the way you’ve been acting just like I did, only he had no fuckin’ clue as to why. So maybe you’ll be so kind as to tell _me_ what the fuck is going on with you?”  
He got up from his flimsy mattress to approach you; but in the confinement of his cell he would still be separated from you, always just out of reach. No matter how much you wanted to break through, the barriers between your world and his were impenetrable. The metal bars blocked your view of Negan, vertically cutting his face and body into broken sections.  
Staring at him like this, divided and distant, you felt like _you_ were the one who was trapped. It was a selfish thought, really. Even if you couldn’t break through, at least now, unlike Negan, you had found a way around. It was a chance to escape, and by God, you were going to take it.  
You looked up at Negan with sorrowful eyes. You knew he wasn’t going to take the news well. Both of his hands gripped firmly around the cold, rusty bars as he waited expectantly for your reply.  
Instead of giving him a long-winded answer, you just blurted it out: “I’m leaving.”  
Negan looked pretty much how you expected him to. Shocked, like a bomb had just been dropped in front of him and was about to detonate.  
“Pardon the fuck outta me,” he said with bemusement, “but what did you just say?”  
You took a step closer to him, your head held high. “I’m _leaving_ ,” you repeated, now with more conviction.  
“Ohhh!” he laughed and his face lit up, like a light bulb had just clicked on. “You mean you’re going out on a supply run or something?” he surmised. “Like you’re leaving _temporarily_.”  
You didn’t know if he really had it all wrong _or_ if he was just in plain and simple denial. Either way, it made you despondent. All he wanted was some reassurance that this was nothing more than a short trip, and as much as you longed to tell him that…you couldn’t. You were done keeping the truth quiet. Doing so had hurt the people you cared about too many times in the past.  
“No Negan.” Your voice was so soft it was practically a whisper. “Not temporarily. For good.”  
For a moment he was stunned into silence. You thought back to the day that Rick won the war by slitting Negan’s throat in a surprise attack. He had the same expression of disbelief on his face now. But there were other emotions mixed in as well. Sadness, confusion…fury.  
“ _Why?_ ” was all he could muster to ask.  
You remembered watching Rick’s assault in horror, rushing over to Negan as blood spilled from his neck, trying to stop the bleeding. Thanks to your efforts and the help of a few other reluctant participants, you were able to save his life. Now you felt like you were just finishing Rick’s job. Reopening the wound and leaving him to slowly fade into blackness. You willed yourself not to cry—to keep it together long enough to provide him an explanation. You owed him that much.  
“Because everyone here is rebuilding now, and I see all these positive changes happening around me. I see people who are actually optimistic about the future, who are enthusiastic about being able to live normal lives with their loved ones...they get to be _happy._ ”  
You paused, unsure if Negan was really hearing you right now or still processing the news. It was difficult to tell when he was staring blankly into oblivion. Still, you continued stating your case.  
“And I want so badly to be a part of it, but I can’t because my only chance at living that kind of life is right below my feet, constantly out of reach.” You took in a long, shaky breath and exhaled with a shudder, struggling to keep your composure.  
“Every day I still have to _choose_. I thought when the war ended these feelings would go away, but I’m still so torn up inside. I can’t live like this anymore. In fact, I really _haven’t_ been living. The only solution’s been to try to turn my brain off completely, but I can’t keep it up any longer. Even doing _that_ has been exhausting.”  
Just then Negan snapped out of his suspended state, his eyes shooting up to meet yours. “So stop fucking wearing yourself down then, and let me the fuck outta here.”  
His curt response caught you off guard, and you shook your head. He really _hadn’t_ been listening to you after all.  
“You _know_ I can’t do that,” you remarked.  
Negan pressed his face against the metal barriers, getting as close to you as he could. Anger seemed to overtake all of his other conflicting emotions. “You mean after all this fucking time, you still don’t _trust_ me?”  
You sighed. “C’mon Negan. My people have kept you trapped here for what feels like an eternity…they took _everything_ from you! How could you not hold that against them? If I set you free—  
“Fuck all those people,” he interjected. “They’re not even worth killing. You wanna fucking go? I’ll sneak out with you in the night. We can slip away undetected…start a life of our own!”  
He was pleading now, frantic. You couldn’t tell if he was being honest or if he was just saying anything in order to get you to stay. And not being sure of his intentions was dangerous.  
“It’s not just that. It’s all the wives you just _had_ to have...and it’s the war too,” you admitted. “There were casualties on both sides, I’m not discounting that, but you and the Saviors killed _so many_ of my people. I don’t know if I can ever look past it.”  
Negan clenched his fists tighter around the bars. “Stop fucking saying that,” he sneered.  
“What?” you wondered.  
“’My people.’ They’re not gonna _be_ your fucking ‘people’ anymore. You’re fucking abandoning them! So stop making it sound like something it fucking isn’t.”  
His demeanor was cold, almost unfeeling. He glared at you like you were just another disappointment, and if looks could kill your heart would have stopped in that moment.  
“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I’m just tired of fighting. I’m tired of having to choose between what I really want and what’s best for my—for the people of Alexandria. But mostly, I’m tired of forcing myself to live in a house that will never feel like home…because you’re not there.”  
Suddenly your legs felt weak, and although you knew you shouldn’t, enraged as he was, you couldn’t help but lean yourself up against the bars of his cell, closing the space between your bodies.  
In a knee-jerk reaction to your proximity, he rested his forehead against yours, and you felt his icy disposition melt immediately. You closed your eyes, praying you could stay like that forever. Wishing you didn’t have to tell him the next part. But you would; because what you were about to say would be the most important thing you’d ever tell him.  
“I love you, Negan. But I won’t run the risk of getting more blood on my hands. It’s time to for me to go. It’s time for me to be peaceful.”  
He pulled you in and kissed you hard. “Don’t fucking go. Please. You may think of me as someone you’ll never have, but you’re fuckin’ _all_ I have.”  
You squeezed his hand. “I have to go.”  
You pulled a piece of cloth out of your pocket and placed it in his palm. It was the bandana you had worn around your eyes when you had taken your first drive together and told Negan about the history of your swords. You found it amongst your things when you fled the Sanctuary, intent at first on throwing it away. But something had prevented you from letting it go, and you held onto it ever since.  
He clutched the cloth in a tight fist like he was gripping it for dear life. Like if he held onto it strongly enough, he could somehow hold onto you too. But you were already making your way back up the stairs, afraid to glance behind you and see his face. Was he furious? Devastated? It didn’t matter anymore. Either way it would just break your heart, which was already fractured enough. Still, as you ascended to the exit, there was nothing you could do to stifle his screams.  
When at last you reached the top step, you heard him rattling against his cage. “Don’t fucking go, Y/N! Did you fucking hear me? Don’t you fuckin’ leave me!”  
He was crying out, desperate and wild. A fallen leader shouting orders he would never be able to enforce.  
“I LOVE YOU, Y/N!” he bellowed from the depths below. Your body went rigid. It was the first time you had ever heard him admit it.  
The echo of his confession hung in the empty air. All other commotion had long since ceased, and you knew he was frozen right now too, waiting for you to make a move. You ached for the opportunity to run back down to him, and see him as he said it once more. Then you could know for certain that the words had come from him.  
But you lowered your head. If you _did_ go back down there, you would not be able to stop yourself from freeing him. And then your only chance for a fresh start would be gone.  
In order to go forward, you had to leave him behind.  
Some how, you willed your feet to move, but it was _away_ from where his words still loomed in the silence. He must’ve realized you were fading away, as he began to roar and wail, thunderous screams that called to you still. It was like flying above a storm cloud, where you were just high enough to be safe from destruction, and yet undeniably drawn to the darkness below.  
You wanted to block him out, but he kept repeating it now, like a man who needed to convince you he truly meant it. Like a man who knew it was the last time he’d ever get to say it to you: “I love you! I love you! Fuck…I LOVE YOU!” It rang on a loop in your head, like a broken record growing louder and louder, even as you covered your ears.  
You had to make it stop…you _needed_ to. And you knew the only way was through the door that led to the outside. With all your strength you pushed it open and stepped into the sun. For a moment you let the light consume you, hoping the brightness would be enough to outshine the pain. Although there was no way to ever truly leave the hurt behind, perhaps you could find the happiness you needed to rival it. That is what you intended to seek out.  
There would be no stopping you now.  
The things you had packed for yourself were waiting where you left them next to the prison entrance. You hurled the bags of supplies onto your shoulders and marched on, never looking back.  
You’d make up some excuse at the gate as to why you needed to head out, and then you’d just keep going. You weren’t sure of your destination just yet. Maybe for you there would never really _be_ one. And that was okay, because at least you wouldn’t feel trapped anymore.  
No more secrets. No more polarizing decisions. No more thinking about the things you wanted but could never have. Now you could focus on what you _needed_. You could start a new life—make yourself into something better than what you were before.  
As you continued walking you smiled to yourself, thinking about how Jainyu had used his dying breath to tell his friend not to waste his life in a place where he felt completely stuck. You knew now that if you wanted to do your part to restore the earth to it’s former glory, then you needed to pick up the pieces of your _own_ life first.  
Maybe “building the universe” wasn’t about trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Maybe the “universe” you really had to build up was the one inside of you.


	11. Epilogue

**He waited until the sound of the footsteps faded upwards. As the door above creaked open, he could see from his vantage point in the cell a dim light that reached down to the bottom of the staircase. With a slam, the light vanished, and he was left once more in the dark. Now, he was truly alone. It was the most hopeful he had felt in over a month.**   
**“Heh,” he chuckled to himself. “No way am I chasing after that fuckin’ fool.”**   
**He reached for the lock, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining what just happened. Doing _this_ much time, especially time as solitary as his, could do crazy fucking things to a person, after all.**   
**But to his relief, it hadn’t been in his head. When he placed his hand on the door and pushed, he watched the metal bars that had kept him contained for so long slowly drift open. And the best part was, nobody but that fucking Brandon kid even _knew!_**   
**When that fucker stole the keys to his cell and unlocked it, the moron actually thought that he’d taken the deal to get revenge on Rick in exchange for his release from confinement.**   
**Brandon’s plans for vengeance had something to do with the Whisperers—whoever the fuck they really _were_ —and teaming up with them to take down Alexandria. He had acted like he was all in on this operation, but it was just a classic case of a desperate fucking soul lying his ass off so he could snag a one-way ticket out of prison.**   
**And now that he really _was_ out, he didn’t give a fuck what Brandon wanted…he had other plans in mind. Oh, he would go visit the Whisperers all right, but he had no intentions of working with them. Instead, he was going to gain Rick’s trust by taking this new threat out _for_ him, and he was going to do it by first pretending to _become_ one of them.**   
**It was an added bonus to what he _really_ wanted to accomplish with this master operation. Once he successfully infiltrated the Whisperers, he would have his chance to explore their territory more openly. It would be so much fucking easier to move around without any annoying-ass people who wanted to kill him getting in his way.**   
**He needed to minimize those kinds of obstacles as much as he could if he was ever going to find her. It had only been about four weeks…she couldn’t have gone _that_ fucking far. Hell, for all he knew, she was _one_ of the fucking Whisperers now. If that was the case, he knew everything would change if she just saw him again. She would come back with him if she learned that he was no longer an inmate in Alexandria...that Rick and the rest of her group could trust him now. He could win her back. He _had_ to.**   
**When Brandon unlocked that door for him, he didn’t think about Lucille, or the Alexandrians, or even the fact that he was finally a free man. No, the first thought that crossed his mind was about _her_. And as he took his first step through the threshold leading to the outside world, she wouldn’t leave his fucking head. But he didn’t want her to either. He wanted her right there with him on this journey, and that’s where she would stay until they met again.**   
**“I’ll fuckin’ find you,” he whispered as he began to climb up the staircase, rising from the darkness. “I’ll find you.”**

* * * *

You lie in bed with him, his strong arms wrapped around your smaller frame. You drift in that tranquil place between sleep and consciousness as he stirs behind you. In response to his movement your eyes flutter open, and you catch the sun rising in front of your window.   
Sighing, you reach back to rest your hand on his cheek, and he buries his face in the nape of your neck, kissing your bare skin. As you turn your head, he lifts his mouth up to your ear and whispers softly.   
You mean to smile at him, but in that moment a gunshot goes off outside, and you look back towards your window to see a distorted sun behind fractured glass. More bullets are firing, ripping through the sky, and explosions ring loudly as your house begins to shake and tremor. The suffocating aroma of smoke fills your nose as you realize something is on fire, and beyond your walls you hear cries of people in immense pain.   
You are filled with dread, and you want to get up and help, but he pulls you back down towards the sheets. He is still smiling, blissfully unaware of the horror going on around him. You writhe and kick and scream, but his grip is too strong, and he continues whispering in your ear.   
You try to block it out, you are desparate to be free, and you shout at the top of your lungs, “Let me go! Let me go! LET ME GO!” 

On the last “go” your eyes fly open. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You shoot up to your feet, relieved to see that no one was lying beside you to hold you back. You are still in the empty, boarded up shack you had discovered on the road earlier today. Your swords still rest next to your sleeping bag.   
You are safe.   
Slowly, you collapse back down onto your knees, taking a swig of water to calm your nerves. You have been wandering alone for over a month now, and you still can’t get him completely off your mind.   
Most days you can tolerate it. Most days you feel _free_. One could even say that you are thriving being out here on your own. You have plenty of food, you typically steer clear of danger, and you are close to perfecting all of your survival skills. But nevertheless, the dreams still come. They always start out so wonderfully, and then quickly avalanche into a nightmares.   
You look down at your shaking hands, staring intently at the scar on your right palm. Everything had felt so real this time. You could feel him holding you; his hot breathe on your ear as he said those three words over and over again. You can hear them now, as if he is still just inches away, in a faint voice that quietly taunts: “I love you…I love you… _I love you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! To anyone who has stuck with me til the end of this ridiculously long story, I sincerely thank you and hope you were at least somewhat entertained. I would love to hear any and all feedback, particularly regarding the ending. Do you feel like the "reader" character should have ended up with someone? Or are you happy that she went out on her own?   
> Regardless of whether you comment or not, I truly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. It was a lot of fun writing like this for the first time!


End file.
